


Heritage

by MissKick



Series: Pre-War Myths [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Tragedy, BAMF America (Hetalia), Blood and Violence, Deathclaws, Gen, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot, Post-Apocalypse, Self-Doubt, Self-Worth Issues, Slow Build, Survivor Guilt, Temporary Amnesia, Vault 101, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2020-11-01 21:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 52,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20518514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissKick/pseuds/MissKick
Summary: Vault 101 was designed with a certain task in mind: Keep the spirit of America alive and safely asleep in case of nuclear annihilation. They did so, for 200 years, until a nosy Wastelander stumbled in with his baby-son.[In the future, James would regret causing that monster to be let out of its cage…]





	1. The Lucky Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeh, testing the waters here. I did first on FF net, but after sleeping, I thought I wanted it here too. (PS I forgot the summary for a minute or two, what)
> 
> I have another My Hero Academia story I'm focused on, but I have most of this story written down and heavily planned, and I'm also planning a novel for NaNoWriMo, so I'll update this every few weeks or so. It's only Part 1 written, of course.
> 
> For those unfamiliar with my work, my stories are usually character-driven, with a lot of worldbuilding and plot progression done every chapter (although this first one is prologue-like and rather expository). My chapters are usually around 5-6K words, although, sometimes, like this one, it goes close to 7-8K. That's not usual, so expect 6K at most.
> 
> I'm avoiding the typical Hetalia humor entirely, and sticking with a 'Fallout-friendly' version of Hetalia. This is a Fallout x Hetalia crossover treated seriously, with a reimagined Hetalia and a tweaked/modded version of Fallout (I'm making the characters in it generally less 'goofy' and changing some worldbuilding aspects that were shoddy at best in FO3 to be ah, 'reasonable'). I'll pretty much avoid pairings, too.
> 
> Whatever could go wrong...
> 
> **Summary** for these two, in case someone in unfamiliar with either.
> 
> Hetalia: A silly Japanese webcomic about personified nations. It's parody and comedy, generally, but the fandom usually handles these characters with great flexibility, usually creating a personal version of their personalities that fits the genre they're writing. So these characters can either be wacky and cute, or dark and powerful.
> 
> Fallout: A game set a world that ended in a nuclear apocalypse, in the remains of a futurist 50's version of America.

**…**

.

.

.

_…War…_

_War never changes._

_The Romans raged war to gather slaves and wealth._

_Spain built an empire from its lust for gold and territory._

_Hitler shaped a battered Germany into an economic super-power._

_But war never changes._

_In the 21st century, war was still waged over the resources that could be acquired. Only this time, the spoils of war were also its weapons._

_Petroleum and uranium._

_For these resources, China would invade Alaska; the US would annex Canada, and the European Commonwealth would dissolve into quarreling, bickering nation-states, bent on controlling the last remaining resources on Earth._

_In 2077, the storm of world war had come again…_

_…In two brief hours, most of the planet was reduced to cinders, and from the ashes of nuclear devastation, a new civilization would struggle to arise._

_A few were able to reach the relative safety of the underground Vaults. _

_Imprisoned safely behind the large Vault door, under a mountain of stone, generations have lived without knowledge of the outside world._

_This is Vault 101._

_On that fateful day, when fire rained from the sky, the giant steel door of Vault 101 slid closed and never reopened._

_It is here we are born. It is here we die._

_Because in Vault 101, we have a mission._

.

.

.

* * *

**I**

_…It was for the sake of his child._

Or at least… that’s what James told himself when he brought little Daniel to this vault.

His baby boy needed a safe place to grow up. James’s dreams were mostly crushed by his beloved wife’s passing…

With Project Purity seemingly in a dead-end, with barriers and difficulties arising left and right, hope dwindling every other day, her death felt like an overwhelming blow, and he could no longer stand on his own two feet for the project.

Another objective took over his mind then. _Daniel had to be **safe**._

Thus, here they are, in a _vault…_

James sighed, having finished rearranging his new desk in the medbay. One of the handfuls of such rooms, given to him after all the health and radiation checks determined his genes weren’t too twisted beyond the norm – and once he’d proven to be a rather competent physician as well.

Daniel’s presence helped…

It seems the people of the vault were rather _sentimental_ when it came to small children…

They faintly heard his son crying from the other end of the door, before James even had the chance to _knock._

The vault, though…

It was _big. _

Bigger than he thought vaults would be. It seemed to house, easily, a thousand people and it could probably squeeze more if needed – it was probably the sheer size of a small city, _underground,_ which was a lot for a vault…

Several _floors_ of residential quarters; large communal spaces; a very grand cafeteria, with a high ceiling and an open floor above, with several connected rooms for food and water production and supply; a wide atrium, rooms for recreation connected all-around to it…

The Overseer’s Office, too, was bigger than he knew them to be…

From what he heard, it was one of the vaults in near vicinity of DC that he was willing to trek across the Wasteland with a baby to reach. Most of the others were either too far, behind too much Wasteland wildlife – or were _dead._

The _dead vaults _had plenty of horror stories surrounding them, from brave scavengers who escaped with their lives or from the traders’ rumor mill that surrounded vaults in general.

He knew them to be cramped, dark, rusty, and _cruel._

This one, however, was always closed. It opened to no one. Wastelanders have tried – raiders have tried.

No one ever got inside Vault 101.

Although, there were undoubtedly known vault-dwellers who left it in the past…

The only two things people knew for sure was that it _thrived, _and that it was _religious._

So, the Wastelanders knew it had people, possibly zealots, possibly moralistic, but the people inside didn’t seem to trust the outside world, not one bit.

So, information on it was scarce.

Those who left it were often well-equipped, but also distant and quiet, traveling for unknown reasons, and people were unsure of whether or not they actually came back to it.

James was lucky, he supposed… It was fortunate enough that Paladin Cross was so willing to escort him and his child to Megaton, it’s entirely possible James wouldn’t have been able to keep his boy safe otherwise…

But Overseer Williams’s mercy was also incredibly fortuitous…

_James had only briefly met the man, a gray-haired and tired man who expressly told him what he expected out of his act of mercy…_

_Not a lot of good-will from the vault-dwellers, but most certainly, effort on James’s part. _

_He’s given a vault suit and told to fit in. “Work hard and respect our rules, and you’ll be able to stay.” _Overseer Williams told him, before handing him to someone else and getting back to work.

_James was lucky in the end…_

A metallic knock on the door snapped him out of his reverie – he looked up. A man stood in a neat vault-suit and glasses, a clipboard under his arm.

The gray _armband_ stood out, however… _Five indigo stars around a lone white star, all within a circle… _James tries not to focus on it.

“You seem to have settled well.” The man commented, looking around his desk. His tone was neutral.

James sits still, hand nuzzling his knuckle. “I have to thank you people again, for giving us a chance. We really needed it…”

The man frowned before his expression softened. “At least you’re civil… We don’t think too kindly of the outside world. Or, well, most of us don’t.” He shrugged and approached, offering a hand. “The name is Mark Winters, by the way. I’m the Head-Teacher of Vault 101.”

James stood to accept the handshake with a nod and a thin smile. “James Cross, glad to meet you.”

_Fit in, James was told… He needed a surname, something he and many Wastelanders lacked… As a ‘thank you’ and gesture of honor, James would take the Paladin’s surname, with his blessing, of course… _

_His wife would have liked this particular surname…_

These dwellers are friendlier than he expected, though, thankfully…

_But certainly distant, just as he heard…_

Winters nodded in return, taking a step back and looking down at the clipboard. “Now… I’m not here to chat. I’m here to give you the basics of how things work around our little home underground.”

_Ha… ‘Little’, how modest…_

James sat down again, a tinge of hesitation in his mind. Every vault, from the rumors he hears, always had something _fishy _around it. Something that happened before its social collapse – or structural collapse.

Something the people in it were doing… Something _dark… _It was common sense in the Wasteland to _avoid_ vaults for a reason…

_He hoped nothing too horrible was happening in this one – everything looked okay – the people looked okay and happy, if not merely suspicious of him…_

Winters had his eyes on the papers of the clipboard, drawing a pen and noting something on it. “First, since you’re from the outside, your genes are not completely pure, so, neither you nor your son are allowed to create families here. If you do, we’ll have to ask you to leave along with the genetically compromised.”

James frowns and looks away. He wasn’t looking to start a family – not when he’s lost the love of his life, not when he already had a child…

But Daniel… It seemed rather cruel to deny the boy such a thing, especially when he’d be growing up here and would most certainly have a crush at some point…

But this place was the safest place they could possibly be in… James would leave this talk for the future. “I understand.”

“Good. Second, since you’ve brought your son here, we’ll take that as consent to educate him as we do to _all_ our children. He’ll go to our classrooms and learn what we teach everyone, starting when he turns 2.” He gave a pointed look to James, pointing the pen for emphasis too. “No homeschooling.”

James unconsciously tapped his foot, looking away briefly. “…May I at least know what you’ll be teaching him…?”

Winters turned back to the papers, seemingly not offended by the suspicion. “Nothing nefarious. It’ll start with lessons on cooperation with other kids, and to respect the elders, and how not to be loud and fussy and unruly. Basic discipline for children. It’ll last until he’s 4, when he’ll be considered fully socialized. I ask that you do not try to _interfere_. Children who _fail_ to be socialized, and display sociopathic tendencies by the age of 4, are considered _beyond_ correction. Then he’ll _not_ be given citizenship, he’ll not be allowed any firearms or a job, and we’ll ask him to leave by the time he’s 15 at most.”

James mulled over the thought for a few seconds. “Daniel is a quiet child… I’m sure he won’t give you trouble…” _Beyond correction…? By the mere age of 4? And asking him to leave at 15? It sounded cruelly harsh for such a safe environment…_ “What else?”

He’s always thought of vault-dwellers as less likely to adopt Wasteland morals while safe inside a functioning vault…

Winters nodded with a small smile. “Good to hear…” He became serious once again. “Once he’s 4, he’ll start basic schooling. Reading and writing, counting, teamwork and competitive play, drawing, that sort of thing…”

_That part seems very good…_

Winters paced a few steps into the room, back turned to James, and he stood straight with his arms behind, still holding the clipboard and pen. “And also, at this age, the child will learn about _the Soul.”_

James blinked in confusion. “Excuse me?”

Winters turned back, eyes narrowing. “Here on Vault 101, our ancestors were given a task in case the bombs fell. A mission if you will.”

James leaned back on his seat slowly, shoulders tense.

Winters continued. “Our task was to _protect_ something. Something that lays deep within our home. It’s what we call the_ Soul.” _He gestured with the pen in hand. “The Soul is a literal relic from the Old World, a _living_ remnant of America that this vault keeps alive through our nationalistic spirit. Without that, the Soul will wither and _die.”_

_What in the world…? _James raised an eyebrow.

Before he could utter a question, Winters continued, approaching his desk and resting both hands over it. “You are not to _ask_ about it, or about _where_ it is. As Overseer Williams instructed me to tell you, if you pose even the _slightest_ threat to the culture that keeps the Soul alive, you’ll be kicked out _immediately,_ and the child will remain here. If you attempt to _find_ _it_ and try to _reach_ _it,_ you’ll be _shot on sight._ Is that clear, Mr. Cross…?”

James remained outwardly stoic, but his mind had all sorts of questions floating about. He nodded slowly. “Understood, Mr. Winters.”

Winters watched him closely for a few more seconds, before he stood straight, pulling up the edge of a paper from the clipboard, reading. “Good. Now, do you wish to know more about the children’s curriculum, or do you wish to move on and discuss your job here in the vault?”

The tense atmosphere dissipated slowly. “I want to hear a little more about what Daniel will be learning, if it’s not much to ask.”

They go over the education that would be given to Daniel in the years to come, followed by James’s own job and responsibilities right after, and it took roughly an hour to get it over it.

Only when James is alone, he sighs, ruffling his hair as he leans heavily on his elbows over the desk.

Some things made sense now, of course… On his way inside, he saw plenty, but nothing tickled any bone of suspicion in him then. It was all hints and little details.

The American flags were the first sign, but he’d figured it normal for some vaults still functioning… He wasn’t sure, of course. There were women in vault-dresses reminiscent of those he saw in the old billboards left from the pre-war country, the visible celebration of American culture in colors and decoration, the music in the radio, all which made him think it was a holiday of sorts within the vault…

It probably wasn’t. This is the vault on a normal day.

It was as _Americana _as it could get, and James wasn’t sure he liked, considering how the utterances of these people reminded him– _ever so slightly– _of the Enclave’s idea of values from the old horror stories he’s heard in his youth.

Maybe he had some bias… But he felt justified in being rather mistrustful.

And then, this _soul _they talked about…

That was an _odd_ thing.

Every vault seemed to have something _fishy_ if not destructive in its structure, almost like an _experiment, _and James judged this whole soul-business to be it for Vault 101.

He didn’t know what it really was, though. He was curious, of course, but… he was told that poking around would only get him into trouble. He was no _citizen _of this vault, first of all.

And maybe if he worked hard and gained their trust after years, he could be an _honorary_ _citizen. _But not a full-fledged citizen.

Maybe they’d lower they guard around him, and he’d have more flexibility to do experiments… Maybe…

Daniel would be a citizen, though. He’d be schooled and taught the vault’s values and be raised in their culture. But more importantly, he’d be safe.

_Because, as he eventually learns, one aspect of the vault that James appreciated, was that these people seemed to absolutely value their own. _

_Every citizen had intrinsic value, because every citizen was connected to this soul-thing. Therefore, every negative emotion, every murder, every social conflict, every bit of resentment and bitterness, it all went to back to the soul, and it all poisoned it… according to these people. _

_As skeptical as James felt… the idea at least kept these people together and protective of their own. _

_They didn’t trust James. But they also didn’t mistreat Daniel. They treated his child as any other child…_

_James supposed that he shouldn’t be trying to unveil some dark conspiracy…_

_This vault worked. _

_It had a very religious zealotry when it came to this ‘soul’ beneath its central structure, and its culture was rigid in its optimistic approach of the pre-war country, but as long as James didn’t question the soul’s veracity, or tried poking around, or demeaned their love of all things America, the people mellowed down and gave him a chance…_

_So James slowly relented._

* * *

**II**

The room – _residence – _he gets for himself and his son is a small, compact space on the fifth and last residential floor.

It’s made to cramp at least four individuals if it had bunkbeds, maybe five if you squeeze a crib in, maybe six if someone deigned to sleep on the small couch.

But it only had two beds that could be pushed to fit together in the bedroom, connected to the living/dining room through a doorless archway, which in turn links to a tiny T-turn where laundry appliances are crammed it, and that leads to a tiny bathroom and a tinier storage room.

The living/dining room had a couch in the middle, with a small table and two chairs right behind it. Appliances and decoration circled around this set of furniture, including a small television set, an empty desk by the window, and a stand with a radio on the other end.

The ceiling is just high enough for a tall person to stand straight on the tip of their toes, but James doubted he could jump in this place without bumping his head hard…

It all previously belonged to an elderly couple that passed away not long ago, but James wasn’t going to complain.

This was more comfortable than anything out in the Wasteland, not at all like he expected… He sees a somewhat worn but decent carpet, the walls aren’t rusty, but are painted with an aged but clean and comfortable beige color, there’s electricity, and clean water from the tap, there’s a working shower-stall in the bathroom, and the toilet works very well…

It was downright luxurious by James’s standards. He honestly expected– _and was ready to accept– _a cold, gray box devoid of life.

But this wasn’t that.

The only window in the room had blinds that could be closed reliably, and he couldn’t hear much of anything beyond the walls, even less so with the front door closed. Privacy wasn’t an issue.

Each residence– all lined up with a number for each– linked to the common area, a wide room, with two levels of residences packed close, presumably all with this same amount of quality.

The elevator was pretty spacious and right at the center, in front of a comfortably wide set of stairs to reach the second row of residences above his, and with a narrower set of stairs leading down behind. He knows that upstairs there’s another one, leading up to the next floor as well.

Outside was where the residents of this floor often gathered socially, mostly to let their children play in the pen of green carpet that wanted very badly to resemble grass, or just to talk and have lunch with their neighbors around the small tables and chairs that surrounded it.

James doesn’t miss how they eye him suspiciously at first, not quite letting their children near.

James isn’t so much offended as he is awed at how healthy and careless said children look…

Children of the Wasteland are often scraggly, alone, armed, dirty, shifty, quiet, and cautious…

The children in the vault look well-fed, with friends or parents, unarmed, clean-cut, curious, somewhat rambunctious, and playful!

Their parents too have some minute differences, obviously due to their safe upbringing… The women are smaller, the men are less rugged…

It’s quite fascinating to watch.

_Eventually, he gets confronted for his ‘watching,’ of course. James decides that merely telling the truth is the best course of action._

_The vault-dwellers mellow down slightly to him soon after._

His clumsy attempts at parenting also garner sympathy, mostly from mothers, when they notice he has a hard time getting Daniel to actually alert him to a problem.

Like all Wasteland children tend to be– _adapted genetics, or parental feedback– _Daniel is quiet. Too quiet, maybe, as crying loudly in the Wasteland can be deadly.

_It's why his crying by the vault's door was so unexpected and baffling at the time._

But in here, he's still not at all like the vault-children, who cry _so_ loudly sometimes, James has to cringe in response when he hears it even inside his residence.

But, as the floor’s residents warmed up to his presence, so did their willingness to help him with Daniel’s needs– _since he wasn’t making much of a fuss to demand sustenance._

_His crying was now ‘whimpers and tears’, and he quieted down at the slightest reprimand… It turns out that’s not ‘normal baby behavior’._

The vault-babies were like pre-war babies, then. Daniel is just _different._

James wasn’t looking forward to explaining this to his son when he grew enough to understand this…

* * *

**III**

The vault had a surprising but inordinate amount of _politics_ in it.

James wasn’t exactly thrilled about it, but he was partially glad to be exempt from the whole process.

From what he knew of vaults, they tended to have one leader, and one leader alone. Scavengers and explorers never spoke of a vaster system speaking its truth in what’s left of the dead vaults, through terminals, holotapes, and papers…

But he sees this first-hand on his way to work when a denizen of his floor wears an armband and stops by multiple residences to speak and listen to the people who lived in them.

James had seen those armbands often enough, but had long elected not to ask, wanting to avoid trespassing on some cultural norm he’s unaware of.

If it were important, the vault-dwellers would share.

But those armbands were seen enough that he raises an eyebrow at it.

Mark Winters, known as the ‘Head-Teacher’, wore one.

James’s superior, Scott Hill, the ‘Head-Doctor’ who regulated and verified the paperwork and reports from all doctors in the vault, also wore one whenever checking on James’s work–

_Always suspicious and questioning of James’s whereabouts and doings, but also curious when it came to the medical state of the Wasteland…_

_The man was not overtly hostile, at least…_

Eventually, James works out their meaning, just as soon as he notices they had different coloring patterns.

A circle, with five stars inside, and a lone star in the middle, branded in a grey or blue or white armband, whichever color fit the symbol.

The Head-Doctor’s had yellow stars and a white star in the middle.

The Head-Teacher’s was indigo and white; the man visiting people on his floor had blue around black in the middle.

Status, rank.

Organized in what seemed to be several layers of political hierarchies, much unlike the ‘Overseer at the top and everyone _else_ at the bottom’ system, like he’d figured vaults to have.

No, no… It was a lot more than that here.

This place had votes for Floor Representatives, who carried their floor’s interests for resources to the top, and who voted to appoint the heads of the workforce; a voted Overseer, who served as the de-facto leader, who managed the requests of the ‘Reps’, and who appointed judges to a succinct judicial group who dealt with all court cases brought to them. It even had an Assembly, for the eldest, most well-regarded people of the vault, who offered council to the Overseer, and sometimes even voted against his decisions.

Quite a marvel, there…

More complex than anything James had ever seen out there. The vault-dwellers often crowned it as a close resemblance to its pre-war predecessor.

Well…

…Considering how the pre-war nation ended, James was insecure about its long-term viability… _although he wouldn’t dare spout that to these people._

His own future was also not secure due to this system; he knew it to be so, as he watched the political discourse of day-to-day life in the vault…

It wasn’t heated. It was often– _always– _accompanied by religious levity and level-headed discussions.

Which was rather unnerving when it accompanied the utterly illogical zealotry.

But, if James messed up just enough, attracted just enough negative attention, made just enough enemies, or if just enough of them didn’t trust him…

They could quite literally vote him _out_ of the vault entirely.

It’s 2260.

James has been in this vault for a few months now.

The next Overseer election is coming up soon.

And the next popular contender, one _Joseph Bennet, _who vehemently opposed letting James and his son inside the vault, seems inclined to do just that.

His reasoning dwindled down to a singular concern, one shared by a worrying number of dwellers.

_The Soul’s wellbeing._

Since neither James nor Daniel was genetically pure, it was a _risk_ to have them around, apparently.

For some religious fallacy of a reason, ‘genetic impurity’ amongst the humans infected this soul-thing’s health…

_‘Like poison’, Bennet went as far as saying._

James doesn’t know where that came from or what proof he had.

He’d long chalked it up to tribal religiosity springing up from something inane or coincidental that happened in the vault at some point in its existence.

_Maybe, possibly, something left by its pre-war administration._

Either way, if James left this alone without a word, there’s no doubt he’d be voted out of the vault entirely…

For Daniel’s sake, James really had to work harder to gain these people’s trust.

* * *

**IV**

James preferred to immerse himself in his own work, rather than socializing…

In his absence, his son was tended to by a teenage nanny, a young lass with a baby sister around Daniel’s age; she’d often have little Shirley play with him.

James paid her with a tiny bit of his salary.

Because the vault had an economy.

Money.

_Wonderful – James truly wouldn’t do with any fewer reasons to distrust this vault’s future…_

What did the dwellers sell amongst themselves, however?

Culture and entertainment, for the most part…

The vault has a lively culture, thriving so abundantly, it makes his head spin with how often the gossip and trends change amongst the vault-dwellers.

James may have been wary of many things in this place, but he certainly could appreciate how often these people churned out new music, new literature, new art…

_Most of it highly influenced by American culture and history, never really straying far from its themes of romance, loyalty, optimism, and patriotism, with a longing for the nation lost to them…_

_The only difference was its active shunning of the positive look on nuclear power he was so accustomed to seeing in pre-war culture._

_But the stylistic choices definitely varied in ways James had never really heard outside, it was charming and innovative… although, some of the things the youth liked to dish out baffled him too much for him to appreciate…_

The encouragement of cultural growth came from, _again, _the ‘soul’, a term that was steadily growing annoying and repetitive to James’s ears, although he wouldn’t dare to utter such sentiment…

That said, his best bet was to indulge himself in their culture so that the dwellers would be more at ease – so James wouldn’t be such an outsider that most wouldn’t have a problem with kicking him out.

So, he saved money and bought himself a terminal to put on the desk.

The thing was responsible for the fast-paced and yet organic flow of cultural pieces and news in the vault… This tech the dwellers had readily available was downright ludicrous.

A network of terminals connected to the incredible servers they had hidden somewhere in the vault allowed for a fast exchange of information amongst the dwellers.

It had a public network, like a set of public boards of notices where everyone and anyone could leave a message.

The network had no processing power to keep everything stored, so when left alone, things eventually overwrote the oldest messages. If James wanted news, he had to check it every morning before work and every night before bed.

That way, he wouldn’t be out of the loop. That way, he would be less of a strange outsider.

_Truly remarkable tech…_

He could listen, show as much interest as he could without sounding feigned, because he knew what they were talking about.

James went even further, too.

He let Daniel play outside with the other tiny children. He accepted advice from the mothers around him.

He avoided lying whenever possible…

He indulged the fathers’ curiosities and questions about the Wasteland. He accepted any and every invitation to any social gathering. Did his best to remember all names. Avoided letting his temper take hold whenever antagonism towards him arose in his presence.

He went along with the politics of the majority, despite its obsessive focus on their hidden deity… He suppressed his curiosity and didn’t explore beyond the expected and appropriate areas of the vault.

…His desire to poke and experiment inside the vault was throttled.

His image: a father who just wanted his son to _not die_ in the Wasteland.

_Nevermind his bitter longing for his dear Catherine… Nevermind his growing desire to experiment and indulge in his old project… _

_Nevermind his skepticism and disbelief of everything the dwellers had faith in…_

_As long as they let him stay with his son, nevermind the internalized falsehoods and forced agreeableness._

* * *

**V**

James likes to think that his efforts weren’t in vain.

But election comes and goes. It turns favorably for his future, thankfully, due to the newly elected Sherri Lynn Taylor, 30th Elected Overseer, unseating her predecessor, old Tony Williams who gave James such mercy by letting him in…

And also beating Bennet by a hair, thank goodness…

_It seems the vault isn’t as hostile to him as he’d previously thought… At least not enough to choose a vote just to kick him out…_

_Or maybe James’s efforts were truly worth something… _

So, he breathes a sigh of relief when the results are announced, and his nights are no longer sleepless after that.

His neighbors and coworkers don’t make a fuss, but they do smile – _as if silently saying that they knew everything he was feeling before, and that things would be okay…_

They were good people, overall…

James relaxes on his socialization, no longer forcing himself to do anything, and preferring to be as useful as he could through the job given to him in this vault.

_By the time the next election rolls by, he’s sure this will no longer be an issue._

Time starts to fly by.

Daniel grows right before his eyes.

A year after that stressful election, he has to take his son to daycare, so he can begin his proper education as a vault-dweller like all the other children…

As agreed, James tries not to be too nosy and suspicious of what they’re teaching his kid. _They let him stay… It’s the least he could do… Trust them… enough._

James focuses on his work.

At 4, Daniel was deemed sociable and well-educated, and therefore, they wouldn’t be having any future problems with that. He learns about this soul-thing, and he asks James about it later, but he deflects the questions.

At 5, Daniel is taught the more inflexible rules of the vault, what the kids are or aren’t allowed to do, the traditions, the holidays, and selectively good-stories about America's history and its heroes in kid-friendly fashion as they continue their basic education.

At 6, Daniel starts playing actual sports in the more spacious sports-chamber with the other kids, either football or baseball, appropriately adapted for kids their age – _his boy seems to prefer football._

At 7, James watches as the kids play-act history lessons, like the War of Independence, the Civil War, the Second World War, the Sino-American War of Anchorage – _just all the wars._

Although they’re all acted in a rather _intimate_ manner… with a particular shrouded character representing the _‘soul’, _a near god-like being that seems to care about the American citizens and grieve with their pain and fight by their side like an _angel_ _of_ _death…_

_James finds it very off-putting._

At 8, Daniel learns how to shoot with BB's, and he’s allowed to choose some kind of recreational hobby to focus on, like music, or painting, or acting, or tech-tinkering –_ Daniel likes the latter two, but tinkering seems to be a talent of his._

_And when old Williams passes away in his sleep, and James attends his funeral to give his family his condolences and gratitude, no dweller gives him a hard time for it – James is treated as one of them for the first time._

At 9, the kids can start entering or creating little clubs amongst themselves, or join some long-settled groups, all while starting to learn basic survival tactics – _‘Emergency Situation’ lessons_ – and learning about their formal history – US history and Vault 101 History, mostly…

At 10, Daniel is given a Pip-Boy and could now practice shooting with real _small _guns – which he absolutely adores – as well as self-reliance and more technical and efficient survival techniques divided as Girl or Boy Scouts…

_James too is made an honorary citizen and given such device – a true marvel of science, James enjoys having it, so he supposed it was worth the title… even if he still wasn’t allowed to vote…_

At 12, the kids begin a more formal education, learn about philosophy, about civic responsibilities, primary politics, more in-depth US-world history, as well as the basics of more technical sciences, like calculus, computing, biology, chemistry, physics…

At 14, they take their exams for vocational talents, their education being promptly rearranged to focus on what they’re interested in and have an aptitude for, with new health and home maintenance classes becoming segregated between boys and girls.

_Daniel also starts to use the terminal – and James promptly regrets buying it when he seems to develop some kind of addiction. _

_James has to keep ordering him to sleep, and to not sit so damn close to the screen…_

At 15, they can also have a part-time job on the side or work as an apprentice, along with mandatory ‘income management’ and ‘economic responsibilities’ classes, and they can continue to study if they wish to take on more specialized jobs in the future.

Daniel doesn’t feel like becoming any kind of specialist, too busy tinkering with whatever he gets his hands on and apprenticing with the gunsmiths and technicians…

At 18, they’re allowed to _vote_ and _bear_ _arms_ as they wish, and get a full-time job in the vault – which Daniel does with gunsmiths further below their quarters’ floor, although he often taught younger kids how to shoot in the range as well.

And James…?

He remains a doctor, having been given status as an honorary citizen after some 10 years of working peacefully.

They no longer looked at him weirdly, and James could easily bring any problem or concern to the Floor Rep without being given a hard time for his troubles.

His superior no longer checked on him more often than any of the other doctors.

He’s still not allowed to vote, but he doesn’t much care about that.

Daniel seems generally satisfied and happy with his life, and that’s all James hoped for.

The only real issue is with Daniel’s legal inability to have a normal future in the vault, like his peers…

The lad has a girl he’s rather interested in, his childhood playmate, a close friend now, but he doesn’t seem to hold any illusions of having a future with her, and that makes him rather gloomy some nights…

But Daniel is still very much entrenched in the general culture of the vault, believing in that soul-thing just as much as any of the others –_ with James **very** cautiously trying to instill some skepticism so he wouldn’t be blinded by it –_ and following the traditions, and behaving as others do, and thinking along the lines of the All-American vault-dwellers.

_Nevermind that the America they idolize is distorted beyond belief to be flawless, despite the grim reality…_

But… at least Daniel is safe, and at this rate, the lad wouldn’t want to leave, despite the lonely future.

It wasn’t perfect…

But it was better than the alternatives.

* * *

**VI**

.

.

.

James didn’t much care for the civic process of voting for an Overseer that the citizens of Vault 101 did every 4 years, or even the voting for Floor Representative 2 years after that.

His position in the vault was rather safe at this point – it’s been 20 years now – and most of the wedge-issues didn’t concern him. And even if they did, it would only be about his job or the residential floor he resided in, and his fellow physicians and neighbors would vote in favor of these interests anyway.

So, James rarely paid attention to it these days.

But whenever campaigning was happening, he certainly had to _hear _about it from his patients and neighbors.

The only thing that was even mildly interesting– _if not annoying–_ was the wedge concerning that _soul _again.

There were two camps in this political battle… Both loud. Both self-righteous.

The _Conservatives _argued for its _protection._

The _Liberals _argued for its _freedom. _

One camp wanted to keep it asleep and safe inside the vault, so it wouldn’t be contaminated and possibly _killed – _because apparently it could _‘be_ _killed’._

The other wanted to wake it up from its dormant state, so it would be free to do as it wishes – because apparently it could _make_ _conscious choices._

So, two bases, _Protect _and _Free _– and James never heard the end of it during election rounds. Both calling the other foolish and authoritarian and blind and so on and so forth until the election was over – before the same old religious belief stilled the people into dulling their blades for the sake of the soul.

_They didn’t want to poison it with their negative emotions, did they? Because that was apparently a thing. _

James found it to be a useful civic tool to keep the ideological differences from boiling over the edge.

This still felt like a pot waiting to burst open, though…

Daniel’s good friend – _and old crush –_ one young Shirley Baxter, while a lovely lass, was on the _Liberal _side, a _Free, _and she dragged Daniel along.

Of course, naturally, he went with it calmly, level-headed as he always was.

From what James heard from the two… the Free side is rather new, and it’s popular amongst the young these days. It grew with every election cycle.

The Conservative _Protects _resisted so vehemently because once the chamber below was opened and the soul _awakened, _there was no going back.

Probably. Maybe.

James wasn’t sure he liked this… Because the vault is stable, it had a stable culture that could last–_probably–_ but if something went wrong with the Frees’ plans, it could potentially put everything in jeopardy, and James didn’t want that.

No one actually knew what was truly down there, no matter what their religious mythos said. The chamber beneath was never opened.

The vault once had an armed and internal conflict that didn’t last very long, two centuries ago, where it seems people didn’t even know _what _they were guarding.

The people rounded up the pre-war officials calling the shots and promptly rearranged the whole system to be more in-line with pre-war America…

The conflict has an anniversary celebrated in August, a week before election-day…

At the end of the conflict, the ‘truth’ was revealed, and things have been relatively stable since.

_Somehow… He wasn’t particularly interested in its history…_

James liked things the way they were, though.

So, he made no secret that he preferred the _Protects _to remain in power. His fellow physicians knew it, as most of those around his age agreed with him – and that only served to deepen some sense of camaraderie they had with him.

…That was good…

Daniel wasn’t as avid about this issue as his girl-friend, so he held no resentment towards James, thankfully – but the girl was a little more vocal about not liking his opinion.

However, the good thing about the culture of the vault, is that the young respected the old, so James didn’t need many words to make her back off, despite his mere honorary status.

Family was very important, and he’s Daniel’s father.

The young were determined, but their blades would be rather dulled by their elders’ reproach. So, they kept said blades sheathed instead.

_Young Shirley was a good girl in the end, the issue was minor in his mind._

_James was just hoping Daniel would settle well despite his old crush. The vault-dwellers were happily entrenched in their mission. Daniel would probably stay and be happy with it…_

The underlying issue of politics was irrelevant at the end of the day, though, considering James wasn’t a full-fledged citizen and couldn’t vote anyway.

That’s okay.

James doesn’t mind, he has no interest in this process. The main wedge-issues don’t concern him, and he’s learned to ignore all the ‘Soul-Talk’.

They often didn’t have enough context and detail to light a flame of curiosity bigger than his desire for stability – but at the same time, there was not enough detail to quench the bits of buried curiosity he’s had for years…

It’s only when Shirley drags Daniel into the Free campaign with other youngsters that things began to change…

She and the whole bunch of them had _plenty _to tell about the topic.

…Outside of what’s officially learned in school, most kids learn from their families the most _intimate_ details about this mysterious soul, and it’s considered a private opinion – _it’s not polite to publicly argue about it,_ considering the _conflicts_ it creates.

_Protect it or Free it. _

Daniel isn’t exactly encouraged to talk about this with James, and James himself never bothered to ask or pry too much – but Daniel talks anyway, when they’re alone in their compact residence.

_The Soul is a literal relic from the Old World, a living remnant of America that this vault keeps alive through their nationalistic spirit. Without it, the Soul would wither and die. _

James was told this, two decades ago.

It’s _also_ an actual _conscious_ thing, apparently. Kept deep within the vault. The Frees were absolutely convinced that it was a sentient, living thing that could share its thoughts.

_But James still doesn’t know what that even **means. **_

_A robot, maybe? A super computer? Artificial Intelligence?_

_He’s rather curious now… _

But, once again, he didn’t want to risk Daniel’s future in the vault…

_So, James would bury his curiosity even deeper and ignore it…_

_That’s just fine._

.

.

.

_Little did he know that his curiosity would lead to such a mistake…_

_In the future, James would regret causing that monster to be let out of its cage…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
.  
.  
Mostly worldbuilding on this prologue-like chapter, establishing this version of Vault 101 and its dwellers (although there's more background for it that I'll get into as the story progresses), as well as James and the Lone Wanderer's background. Things will start to happen next chapter.
> 
> The Vault 101 redesign is based on Vault 76/Vault 51 designs.
> 
> I really liked writing this. Honestly, I missed writing less angsty and more assertive characters.
> 
> I'm no Fallout lore expert, however, so if you catch any glaring inconsistency with no explanation, forgive me. <:)
> 
> **Also the EDIT below.**
> 
> I suppose I should add what kind of Lone Wanderer I'll be going for, at least in _this_ Part.  
Name – Daniel Cross  
Good Karma – the LW will act like a 19-year old who's lived in peace for his whole life, at least for this Part of the story.  
Caucasian; hairstyle is the Unsettler, chocolate-colored; eyes hazel.  
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. Stats: 3 7 8 5 6 6 5  
Tag Skills: Small Guns, Speech, Repair  
If I were to give him starting Perks acquired in the Vault (because why wouldn't he get a few in such an encouraging place?), I'd go for: Daddy's Boy (3), Gun Nut (3), Child at Heart, and Educated.  
And Fallout 3 has no Traits, but if I were to give him one, it'd be Trigger Discipline only.


	2. A Rude Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up especially long as well... I swear I don't make a habit of doing this.  
.  
.  
.

**VII**

.

.

.

Another year goes by…

His son is a proper young man now – 19 years old and fairly independent at this point.

_Practically an adult…_

The only reason why he’s still living with James was that there isn’t much space available this year around. The vault is dealing with a slight _overpopulation problem…_

The biggest problem with the vault’s philosophy was indeed their _wholesome mission _and _lasting peace. _It really _encouraged_ the idea of _bringing more life into the world_ – that is, to the _vault._

But space was limited.

Apparently, the administration had a specific program made for this exact problem, created a few generations ago. It seems to work reliably; it's solved this problem before, so he wasn’t particularly worried. It's been in effect for a few months already…

Daniel would just stay with James until a new residence was available and he could bunk with other unmarried friends.

While James would probably be asked to move to a more communal space with other people in another floor – the Overseer’s attempt to save space until the population boom diminished a bit with the program…

Half of the vault was allowed to have two kids at most. The other half was only allowed one. These were assigned at random, no exceptions…

The vault-dwellers don’t dare make a fuss about it, not wanting to upset this _precious_ soul-thing again…

Just another crisis, wonderful…

But fine, _fine._

He’s still working as a doctor, and is reasonably stable with the job. Daniel is now working with the weapons’ maintenance people, occasionally teaching the kids how to shoot with BB’s or actual guns for the slightly older ones, but just generally fixing, cleaning, and tinkering with weapons like a jack-of-all-trades for guns, and sometimes terminals, if he had the time.

…He’s healthy, good with sports, gets along well enough with people his age, is gentle with children, is polite to those older, and is an intelligent young man.

So… he wouldn’t _tolerate_ staying with his father for much longer.

These dwellers live and breathe individual agency and freedom – even if they are a bit too _rigid_ in their optimistic and positive outlook of it all.

It is good, James supposed…

Daniel liked these things and liked the vault, so he’s definitely likely to stay.

James now had to accept that his job raising his boy was… done… And he felt rather _alone_ with this acknowledgment…

_What is he supposed to do now? _He thought upon realizing it.

…James continues to live passively, dreading the day when Daniel would at last leave, and they would, in a way, go on their separate ways to live their lives…

James was thinking – on and off occasionally as he went about the motions of day-to-day life in the vault – he was thinking about leaving…

Leaving the vault, maybe… Maybe getting back to his old project…?

It’s been nearly _two decades_ now… He doubted anything changed, so this idea was kept in the back burner as he went from day to day with his usual routine.

Then… the election is once again fast approaching. Sherri’s two terms probably coming to an end this time… Her main opponent was a very well-spoken, previously elected Rep with a good reputation, with a strong Protect platform, liked by most.

The same issues are repeated _again_ – James is as bored as he is tired.

People were always so passionate here… He felt a bit _gray_ in comparison…

James would often find Daniel on their room’s terminal, exchanging messages with the Free board.

The mainframe and the network – it was certainly useful for mass-communication, passing information amongst the vault-dwellers as efficiently as they could. Still, the youth, in particular, preferred to use it as a political message board to giggle about.

James didn’t like to see Daniel so transfixed for so many hours, laughing at gags that made no sense to James.

He often told him to go meet up with people like a _normal_ human being and not be so much like a robot with radio links communicating in _Morse code._

That was usually met with laughs. The youth seems to hear the same complaint often enough that there’s an inside joke somewhere in there.

But sometimes…

When Daniel was away, and James had time, he’d access their board and read what they were plotting in their little digital corners – _as all parents did_ – and it…

It turned out to be a pretty enthralling source of information that nurtured that passive curiosity James kept tucked away.

The _soul, _of course, was their absolute _favorite_ topic.

The Protects had the same obsession, but they mostly spoke directly.

…The way these kids write about this thing, though… It’s fascinating in a way…

They truly, genuinely believe this thing is something awaiting freedom, something _sentient. _

Something _living, _that can _speak, breathe, move. _On its own. With no outside influence.

It was something that _would have died with the country out of ‘stubborn loyalty and protectiveness’ when the bombs fell, but was instead forced to sleep and had a vault of armed citizens built around it – their spirits of identity, loyalty, love of country, is the very air it breathes to live, and with those, it can live **forever.** _

…It’s not human, it’s almost… spiritual…

Truly, like a _deity, _just as James had always identified it as.

James chalked it up to mere religiosity, as usual. But his interest is peaked… He was curious again…

…What were they _really _guarding down there…?

For months, James’s curiosity was passive.

However, it just built up and up after his son mentioned this in further detail, and now here, he… he wants to know now.

Something _pure, clean, _and with the potential to _live forever. _

…Something is _afoot_ there.

So, his old plans and fantasies hatch anew again, nothing else holding them back when this possibly uneventful and lonely future was just over the horizon – _his job raising his boy was done, he’d move to another room, spend time with his friends, work for this cause, focus on his new job, and they’d essentially part ways–_

It’s election night once again.

James admittedly accepted a few drinks from fellow doctors, just to be polite. He was probably not 100% sober, but he was still very functional.

It’s easy to find the courage to _act_ with that.

_Everyone was busy. Waiting for the results at home or in the atrium, making speeches, partying and celebrating, and all the usual fuss that went on during elections…_

James, however, makes his way to the Overseer’s office.

People in the vault are so calm and trusting these days… 'Security-Guard' was a job of the minority, not that many in the vault. Guard-duty was so lax it was literally _laughable. _Too much peace for far too long made this whole place _careless…_

_How lucky that they had the steel walls and door and a literal mountain of rock above them, keeping them so safe._

Then, hacking the Overseer's terminal was just as laughably easy.

The Overseer’s Office was a floor above the atrium. It was big and empty, red carpet in some spots, rather fancy, very clean, with a visible upper deck that housed an alluring bookcase, full of pristine books never touched by weather or atomic fire, and James could almost hear the music below this floor.

But no one, not even a guard in sight…

Too calm and too trusting.

James would unfortunately take advantage of that… _But that’s fine… He already intended to leave anyway…_

He took some provisions and left a holotape for Daniel to find at their apartment, so it’s fine, all fine…

Now, James sits in front of one of the two main terminals, one just below the deck, lodged on the wall and surrounded by more books, and he's browsing through files. These weren’t Sherri’s or Tony's files, that's probably kept in the other terminal by the desk…

_He had no interest in their work…_

This _other_ terminal, however, might just be a standard one, with standard information to be kept for every Overseer to read, possibly with some more interesting information to satiate his curiosity.

In this one, he finds first…

_Project ‘Nation Preservation’… What…? _

_…Vault 101, especially commissioned by a great number of US congressmen, senators, the president, private companies… _

_All to keep something called ‘H.t. AFJ' safe in case of nuclear annihilation of the country… _

Now, what does _that_ stand for…? James’s not sure, but whatever it is, they assumed it to be of _‘__paramount importance’_ if the United States were to rise and reconquer the land…

…Maybe a super-weapon of sorts…? _That was a dangerous thought…_

Or was it a… a kind of technology that would allow the cleansing of an irradiated wasteland for future prosperity…?

This _might_ be the ‘soul’ he’s heard non-stop about for two decades. Could it be something that miraculous…?

_…That last guess was his desperate wish speaking – if that were the case… he’d– _

_Well…_

Whatever it is, it has lain dormant deep within the vault for 200 years…

He didn’t know where the religious beliefs sprung up from, though…

This thing is simply described as _something important that needs to be preserved… _

He’s not sure what to think of it… But it's interesting enough…

Feeling adventurous and curious, he continues browsing, until he runs across a file on something _interesting._

A notice from a man named _Stanislaus __Braun._

About a _G.E.C.K. _

The _Garden of Eden Creation Kit…_

_Oh…?_

It takes little reading for him to lean closer and for his eyes to widen in shock. He couldn’t even _believe it_ as he read about it…

A terraforming device module, capable of creating **life,** out of lifelessness.

…This vault had something _so blatantly_ _useful_ and precious just sitting under it…?!

This… This thing! It could _save Project Purity…! Catherine–! _

James stared in shock, then looked around the room. He _could_ go down there and get it, right now, then leave through the Emergency tunnels – leads right to the entrance, he _knows_ it does. _Every_ vault has it.

If he found this thing, he could take it and leave with something _actually_ useful in hands!

Leave with the _answer_ to such an old problem…! He could, finally, _save the Capital Wasteland…!_

In a moment of sheer recklessness, he turns back to the terminal, where he opens the chamber, _the forbidden place he wasn't supposed to ever go near,_ and he stands away from the terminal, walking around as an uncarpeted spot on the floor of the room rises up.

He didn’t want to waste any time, in case it alerted someone – time to move, _this was it…! He was honestly giddy…!_

Going down the stairs, it’s dark. He follows a hallway for at least 10 seconds, and then finds an elevator. It opens instantly when he pressed the button, and looking inside, it only seems to lead down.

Looking out, he sees the rather wide stairs that circle the elevator, going down as well.

Humming, James tosses caution out the metaphorical window, going down in the elevator. It shakes and whines ever-so-slightly on the way. _He’s gone this far already… Might as well keep going._

_The trepidation was nerve-wracking – if he was found here, there’s no doubt they’d follow up on their warning and kill him on the spot – because he’s not supposed to **be** here…!_

_Daniel would be okay, though – these people were too attached to their old-world values to punish the son for what the father did…_

_But he **had** to do this. This was all James had left… _

_A possibility._

The elevator’s doors open with a _ding_ – and light floods from the corridor beyond.

It’s a bluish glow, and James frowns as he walks forth – doors close behind him as he follows the shorter hallway until he’s out.

He’s on a large suspended and metallic platform, from where he could see the entire room around him. It’s a grand and dark room, the ceiling is high above, and the space is expansive. 

_Just how far down did he go?!_

There were probably many connected rooms that he could follow in his search…

It’s a giant lab of sorts…?

At the center, the blue glow was pretty intense, and it emanated from a big cylindrical tank from floor to ceiling, glowing with this bluish light. Large cables connected the heavy metal platform beneath the container to big devices in rows around it, each with a bigger feeding cable stretching out through the place towards the walls…

Was this… the soul…?

James stares, wide-eyed, then walks down the stairs of the platform with some caution, approaching the tall glass container. The platform it stood on reached his chest, and he could reach the glass.

It was big… But he couldn’t see anything inside…

He hesitantly rubbed a hand on the glass, noting that it was foggy due to heat… _What in the world is he looking at…?_

_Some strange pre-war marvel? A source of energy? _

Inwardly in his mind, he knew he was pressed for time, but he couldn’t ignore his fascination – it was drawing his attention immensely and with such gripping force – he wished he knew what was inside, and what this water-like fluid was…

Why was it so warm?

Why did it glow so much…?

It was quite beautiful, and the Pip-Boy couldn’t detect any radiation…

He rubbed his entire forearm to clear off the fog, then leaned close, hands next to his eyes– _he still couldn't see much of anything…_

He backs off with a silent sigh, then turns from side to side, trying to see where to go next.

Whatever that thing was, it was precious to the people of this vault – and hopefully _harmless,_ as it’s been there for 200 years…

_Look for a storage room of some kind instead… _So he walks off, lifting a leg over a cable to move past it without stepping on anything.

_He couldn’t damage anything here…_

There's a second floor that circles the room, with other rooms he could check, but he sticks to the bottom first. James walks until he finds a door with a promising sign, _Lab 1. _Well, his mistake, this here was the lab…_ A _lab…

He rummages around like a common scavenger, looking for anything interesting or useful. He finds tools and glass cupboards, with small vials of that same glowing blue liquid_._

_What in the world…_

It wasn’t what he was looking for. But he takes one vial, merely curious about its proprieties… _He'll see about it some other day._ And so, he goes to _Lab 2 _right after.

Different findings. Same result.

James speeds up his pace. _Lab 3 and 4, _same damn thing.

Then, _Lab 5._

_Bingo._

A round stand, caged, with a case sitting neatly inside, secured, _untouched._ James looks at it in wonder, breathing in.

James’s breath hitches– _My God… Catherine, it was right here…! This whole time…! _

Okay… A terminal next to it, he could probably unlock it fast enough–

_Except he couldn’t._

_He couldn’t…!_

James grits his teeth as he tries to make sense of the coding. _Just what in the world is this madness…?!_

_It’s arguably the most complicated thing he’s ever laid eyes upon. It was–_

It was frustrating to look at. He had no idea what to do about it. So, James starts to make half-hazardous guesses on how to crack the code. He knew terminals locked after a certain number of blunders, so, if he reached his limit, he’d just reset the terminal and try again. 

_Easy and old trick, scavengers with this sort of knowledge picked up on it eventually…_

James clicks his tongue as he misses his last safe attempt, and presses the power button for a few seconds–

The terminal remains on, but the symbols and keys disappear, only leaving a green screen. James blinks in confusion.

Then–

_Ha Ha._

_Time to die, commie scum._

_Yours truly, China’s worst fucking nightmare._

His eyes widen. What the–?

James jumps when an alarm blares in his ears, along with flashes of red emergency lights– his old Wasteland reflexes kick in and he runs for cover at the edge of the door, looking out for a safe way to escape–

_A trap?!_

He hears the familiar but ominous metallic creaking of machinery through the booming alarm. Maybe a sentry-bot was on the way…! _James had to get the hell out of this place, or he’d be gunned down like a rat…!_

Not able to afford waiting– having heard the whirring sound coming from somewhere _upstairs, _James runs out and follows the first hallway with _Exit _on a sign above, following what directions he could to escape–

He does find one, an elevator, having remained untouched so far, it doesn't stall to open, and James looks back as he enters it, seeing the tell-tale red light of a sentry-bot in sight at the end of the hallway just as the door closes–

He had pressed himself against the wall just as it showed up.

James breathes in relief, sagging against the wall behind as the alarm becomes muffled. _Fuck…_

_What a cheeky and murderous message, from someone rather eager to assume his allegiance…_ _Definitely a pre-war trap…_ That was the most complicated coding he’d ever seen in his life…

James hits the wall behind with his fist in frustration. _Dammit…!_ He lost his chance to get the G.E.C.K. to it…

With a frustrated sigh, he straightened himself. _At least he had a lead on how to move forward with the project. __He’d have to find another case, somehow… Maybe in another vault?_

Either way, with all that ruckus, he’s sure the whole vault could be aware of the breach by now… James had to leave, _immediately._

Daniel would be okay… James didn’t break or mess with their soul-thing. It was just security acting up down there, no doubt designed to _protect it…_

With that in mind, as the elevator stops and the doors open, he follows the dark, metallic corridors, just as it leads him to the vault entrance, like he’d expected…

It was big, just like the rest of the vault, but not as clean – the dwellers just didn’t really tend to this place as much.

His exit leads to a side-room full of bulky processors and some terminals, and the doorway leads into the broader corridor leading straight to the great steel door he'd once walked through, nearly 20 years ago…

No guards this time, carelessly left alone due to the election proceedings.

It’s nostalgic to be here again, and James crosses the room to reach the main terminals that operated the door.

The coding is, thankfully, not as nightmarish as the last one, and he pulls the cord from the Pip-Boy, quickly connecting to the panel next to it, letting it work its magic, before he pulls the main lever.

Another loud alarm with a flashing, orange light. James waits impatiently for it to screech open, looking back, almost expecting security to show up, guns blazing and out for his blood.

_No doubt, everyone would feel so terribly betrayed by what he did…_

That’s fine… He didn’t care if they wanted to shoot him now. He doubted anyone would _leave the vault_ just to find him out there.

The steel door rolls open with a rusty grinding, so rarely oiled and used, and James pulls the lever back, beginning the process of closing it and then running out and across the catwalk towards the door– he sees the metal door busted open, just like he remembered, and the outside was in sight.

He turns back, watching the great steel door slide back in place as he speedwalks, before turning away and leaving the cave.

The broken door whinges when he walks over it, and he ignores the skeletons.

It’s night out, thankfully – he wouldn’t be blinded by daylight today. It still makes his eyes burn, and he squints once outside, but he was okay. He could see the remains of the pre-war city in the distance, and he could also see Megaton's great walls much closer.

…The Wasteland's desert-like and dead visage hasn’t changed _one bit,_ and James felt partially nostalgic…

But… oh, well…

By the time anyone noticed his absence, James would be long gone, while his son would remain _safe. _That's good enough for him.

Now…

It’s time to get back to Project Purity.

.

.

.

_Unbeknownst to_ _ James Cross, old but persistent interests led to the excavation of cavernous paths just beyond the walls of Vault 101._

_Time and tragedy buried these interests, and deadly creatures of the Wasteland claimed it as their home._

_The noise only rouses their curiosity, and no one hears the roars just yet…_

.

.

.

* * *

**VIII**

.

_Earlier_

.

Daniel wasn’t exactly politically active.

Every citizen of age, such as himself – _been a year now – _was considered active, but his passions never ran hot like many of his fellow citizens during election rounds.

His temperament was more like the elders, something his _few_ friends never failed to remind him of.

_Those who bothered talking to him that often did, that is._

Despite that, he couldn’t help but feel bummed out.

This was his first-time voting, and the candidate he voted for didn’t win. Jason Reed was a Free guy, and although pretty popular, it wasn’t enough to swing things on _this_ particular wedge issue.

Usually, betting on the Free proposition was more than enough to make a candidate lose, so Frees were rare candidates, anyway…

Most citizens didn’t trust them with power. _Too risky._

So Daniel really shouldn’t be surprised by these results. In fact, he preferred to keep his allegiances to himself on this matter… _Only two people knew he voted for the Free candidate…_

Now, he sat by the stairs in the atrium, looking down at the gathering of Frees exchanging solemn pats on the back for consolation at the center.

_Not this time, guys._

Try again in four years, they were told.

_“Alright, alright. The election is over.” _Mr. Reed was saying. _“Disagreements and arguments are a healthy, spiritual exercise to the Soul, but like any physical exertion for us, it cannot last too long before this begins to stress and strain it. So, remember to be good-sports and celebrate with the opposition upstairs.” _

Right? No hard feelings. No more arguing. At least not until the _next_ election.

Daniel nods with an exhale and stands, stretching his arms just as Shirley walks up the stairs towards him.

He takes note of her slumped shoulders. “How are you feeling?” He asks.

She sighs in a rather content manner, feigning extra disappointment on top of it. “A little blue, but did you see the numbers? A lot better than _last_ cycle! We might actually see a _Free_ Overseer within our lifetime!” She grinned.

“I guess a 2% increase is a lot for us.” Daniel taps his chin, walking a step up and gesturing for his friend to follow. "Maybe when we're old."

Shirley perked up. “Oh, it’ll be a dream come true! You feel this warm buzz?” She raises both hands wide before clasping them together, prancing past him. “The Soul must be happy with another successful election cycle gearing towards its _freedom!” _

Daniel chuckles, leaning on the railing. “I think it’s just happy everyone’s getting along.”

“That too, of course!”

The deck above on this half of the atrium was a cafeteria, a small space, not made for that many people, where citizens could crowd in tables and enjoy the food prepared and delivered neatly by Mr. Handy robots and other working citizens who deigned to volunteer and work extra during Election Night.

Their candidate and his staff gather to clean up the atrium, and as asked, the Frees leave to join their families and friends of the opposition to celebrate another round of the democratic process.

It’s a time of cleansing.

No resentment, bitterness, or anger was to be left in the spirit now that it was over.

Unfortunately, Daniel had no one to do that with…

His father never quite bothered with any of this. Maybe it was just because he couldn’t vote, but Daniel still wished he would show _some_ enthusiasm for it…

It was such a big deal for everyone… Now it was a big deal for Daniel too.

But Dad preferred to stay in his office, even though nobody other than volunteers was really working today…

Daniel sighs and asks Bishop, the Mr. Handy, for a cup of noodles and a Nuka. Shirley went to reconcile with her fiercely Protect family, and his other ex-classmates also went to join and make amends with their Protect friends and families on their home floors.

Most of the election event is televised, as the atrium couldn’t hold _everyone, _so only a few dozen citizens were left on this floor at this point.

Everyone does their best to hug it out and have a laugh now, even if by forcing it, while the elected Overseer goes to visit each residential floor to talk to everyone he could greet.

Daniel was alone with his food, though, so he leaves the cafeteria, going down the hall until he reaches the elevator, then quietly waiting inside, greeting and handling small talk with anyone who joined him on the way, until it reaches the fifth residential floor.

It opens to the common area and the stairs, illuminated by calm lights, with the multitude of residential rooms spanning the two floors. The music from the radio station is at a low, non-obstructive volume, playing a popular hit from this year’s record.

There’s animated chatter everywhere.

Some doors left open, their residents chatting a little too loudly inside, or leaning on the railing above with a neighbor for a smoke, or talking from their seats by the tables over some snacks, or from children playing.

The floor is certainly a little lively, as most people tend to watch the elections’ results from their television sets or hear it on their radios.

Daniel dodges some kids running by with a kickball, careful not to spill the food.

As soon as he reaches his room – _Residency #548, in the far corner of the floor – _he also greets his immediate neighbor, an old lady sweeping dust off the panel flooring in front of her door.

_“Oh, hello, how was your first vote, dearie?” _Her voice is soft and high-pitched.

_“Felt great to participate, thanks for asking, Mrs. Bridget!” _Daniel grin in return, although he doesn’t stop to chat– _it would never end if he did, Mrs. Bridget was a real chatterbox who missed her late husband and her kids…_

The door is closed behind him, and Daniel sighs, placing his now cool dinner on the table behind the couch of the small living room.

Home sweet home.

But Dad is not there. Daniel hums and sits by the small dinner table, slurping noodles with a fork in silence. It’s in just a few seconds that he blinks and notices the holotape.

He raises an eyebrow. Was it there when he left this morning? With a shrug, he picks it up and inserts it in the Pip-Boy, then continued to eat.

It’s his Dad’s voice that greets him.

_“Hey, son… I… I don’t really know how to tell you this. I hope you’ll understand, but I know you might be angry.” _Daniel tilted his head in confusion. _“I thought about it for a long time, but in the end, I decided it was best for you not to know–”_

…Not know _what? _He frowned as he took a sip of Nuka-Cola as well.

_“Maybe you know already, but if not– I… I’ve decided to leave the vault.”_

He nearly chokes, covering his mouth and nose with a hand.

_“It was something I needed to do. You’re an adult now. You’re ready to be on your own. Maybe someday, things will change and we can see each other again. I can’t tell you why I left or where I’m going. I don’t want you to follow me, although I'm honestly not sure you actually would… I’m sure life in the vault is good enough, you’ll probably remain there, safe, correct…? Just knowing that will be enough to keep me going. Goodbye, I love you.”_

What the f–

Daniel pushed his food aside and stood– _Dad left?! But why?!_

_Wait, did he actually leave, or was he on the way out?_ No one came by to tell him– _and why wouldn’t he just **talk** to him before leaving?!_

Daniel curses internally and turns to run out, towards the elevator.

“Whoa, hey! What’s the hurry, kid?” An adult tries to question him for the odd behavior, naturally.

Daniel ignores it partially. The elevator opens, and he turns back as he rushed in. “The medbay, to find my dad! Sorry!” He closes the door.

He waits impatiently for the right floor to arrive, the ride thankfully uninterrupted. When the doors open, he runs out across the halls towards the medbay.

The door is already open, and when running in, Daniel looks back and forth for a familiar face, ignoring the stares of the few nurses on active duty on Election Night.

“Young Cross?” Dr. Hill wonders from across the room, approaching him. “What happened?”

Daniel is looking around, then turning to find the office Dad was stationed at. “It’s Dad, he said he’d leave the Vault, I-I thought I could catch up to him here…!” But as he peers inside the office, its door left open, he finds no one…

“Wait, what?! Dr. Cross left?!” He hears Dr. Hill ask in shock. “How–”

“He just left a holotape! I don’t know why he–!”

His panic is brusquely interrupted by a _loud_ _alarm – _it buzzes noisily, just enough to startle everyone.

Daniel looks up, alert. “…What’s going on?”

“I don’t know…” Dr. Hill frowns and walks back to the front door, looking out into the hallway. He closes the door, before turning to the nurses. “Please check on the patients here, keep them calm.” With that said, and the nurses moving to obey, Dr. Hill goes to his office with hurried steps.

Daniel isn’t sure what to do now, so he ruffles his hair in apprehension, pacing in circles to think.

The alarm still blares, it quickly grates on his nerves.

But alright, so… If Dad’s not _here,_ then–

_“Alert." _A cool and feminine automated voice speaks suddenly._ "Stasis System disconnect. Contact Vault-Tec administration–” _

The alarm stops, although the emergency lights are still flashing in the hallway. _“Attention, citizens, t-this is your Overseer.” _The newly-elected leader speaks through the radio– _was he at the radio station?_ _“Please, remain within your homes, keep your doors locked and be armed and hidden…!”_

Daniel stares at it, lips parting, before the words process properly, barely taking note of how _uncommonly nervous _the man sounded.

_“I’ve been informed that the Forbidden Chamber’s entrance was opened–” _

His eyes widen, he hears gasps from the rooms left open– and something clatters on the ground from Dr. Hill’s office, followed by an incredulous curse.

_The Chamber?! Where the Soul rested?!_

Then he looks at his Pip-Boy.

_Coincidence…? He hoped so…_

_“There was– Underground, where the Vault’s walls meet the earth– there was a breach, s-something monstrous dug through the wall, it’s big and it has hurt almost fatally some of the security I sent to investigate…! A-And it seems to have also broken things there– the Soul– I don’t know what’s happened to it yet, I intend to see to it personally– everyone, please, remain armed and hidden behind locked doors, I repeat, stay armed and hidden–”_

Daniel runs to the terminal in Dad’s office– _shit, fuck, locked– but he knows coding well enough to hack, okay– goddamn it, how he hoped Dad had nothing to do with this!_

It’s easy, only delayed by his own frustration making him press the wrong keys and hiss angrily.

He accesses the public network, tapping his foot as he waits for it to connect so he could read something – he types his way into the first server and he’s immediately met with a barrage of messages, overwriting the latter ones and almost becoming unreadable.

From all the incomplete, panicked messages he managed to get–

_There was a monster in the atrium?! _

_But Shirley was there – along with how many more…?!_

_And what about Dad? Did he really leave the Vault? Right now?_

Surely… Dad leaving had nothing to do with this, right…? _He never seemed overtly curious about the Soul, why would he do this?! No, no, it was something else…!_

He could hear the Overseer, through the _intercoms_ this time. _“Those things– they’ve damaged the mainframe– the stasis chambers below, terminal’s not responding anymore–” _His voice pitched. _“It should be responding– but I can’t tell what’s happened down there!”_

The medbay’s door opens, Daniel leaves the desk to run to the office’s door, seeing two security guards carrying– a guard bleeding heavily– “Dr. Hill?!” Daniel calls, running out to the other office.

The head-doctor is quick to see what the problem was and decide on a course of action for treatment, ordering the guards what to do and where to go, calling a nurse to help him in the emergency room.

And Daniel just tries to stay out of the way as they disappear further inside, glancing anxiously at the bloodstains on the floor, before turning to Dad’s office again.

One guard sounds viciously furious, Daniel could still hear him from where he stood– _“Someone’s gone inside the Chamber, I– they’ve either left through the tunnels and up to the Vault Door or they’re dead in there–!” _

The intercom flares to life again, muffling whatever else the guard had to shout.

_“Attention– I’ve sent what security I had available to the armory so they can arm up to deal with a second monster heading to the atrium, and I’m going with my own personal officers down the Chamber to – to see if the Soul is still safe – we don’t know yet, but the system isn’t responding. Please stand by, stay safe, don’t take any risks–”_

Then hears from the guard in the emergency room–

_“Dr. Cross left…?!” _

Then the raspier, second one– _“H-How do you know?” _

_“Left when?!” _Daniel cringed, then the only fully uninjured guard appears around the corner. “You there, Dr. Cross’s kid! What’s going on?!”

Daniel rubs his face in a mix of dread and frustration. “I-I found a holotape in our room, he said he was leaving in it, but didn’t say why or when…?! I thought I could catch up to him here, I–”

The guard looked away with a sneer. “No one asked to leave…! He…” He stopped, then gritted his teeth. _“He’s the one who opened the Chamber…!”_

_…Dad really went down there… Why…?! Was he trying to do something to the Soul? Did he just want to see it? Or was he trying to leave without anyone knowing? Was he dead…?!_

The few nurses present in the medbay were peering outside their patient’s rooms, eyes are on Daniel now. He felt the stinging stares – _the silent questions just waiting to form an accusation._

Daniel tried not to wither with its weight, instead returning to the office and the terminal to read– _and hide._

_…The room where everyone seemed to have holed up in was the lounge right next to the cafeteria, along with the pantries and other enclosed rooms with public terminals below – he could read their updates on what they could see through the window they were peeking through._

_It didn’t look pretty– he was getting wild statements from whoever was tasked with writing things._

_A ‘lizard-monster with huge claws’ wandering around the atrium? What the hell…_

Daniel is messaging back, hoping the people hiding by a terminal would read– _“Is anyone injured up there? Please respond.”_

He quickly gets a response; it flashes at the top– _“My father is bleeding. We escaped when Bishop interfered. We’re in the atrium’s lounge room, the upper-left floor. Need STIMS and BANDAGES.”_

Daniel nods rapidly– okay, he’ll do this, then. He stands and looks around Dad’s office to grab what he could– atomizing the Stimpaks and bandages he found into his Pip-Boy. _The stock is oddly devoid of most of its contents._

He really needs to go down there, but how could he avoid getting caught by that thing?

It seems the injured officer had woken up, effectively distracting everyone from Daniel as they fussed to hear what he had to say.

_Blood loss, there was a terribly vicious gash across his chest and abdomen, as if something had tried to cleave him in half. The security's armor no doubt saved his life…_

But was it really a ‘lizard-monster’?! Daniel runs to peer inside the room with the others.

“D-Down there–” His voice shook as he tried to stand from the bed, only to be stopped by Dr. Hill– “We went to check when we found the Chamber open– I-I saw it, I was near it, that thing swung at us and hit the–” He clutches his head. “There was water leaking out, a lot of it, it glowed so much–!” He breathed, already feeling exhausted just from speaking. “There was a sentry-bot, it attacked that thing, huge lizard– we wouldn’t have made it without it there… B-But I think it blew up after we left– w-we heard it…!”

“The whole floor shook…! It might have broken something… I can’t believe it–”

_Oh, no… _Daniel bit his lip, leaning further inside. “Was Dr. Cross down there…?” He asked up suddenly.

The guard looked at him, then frowned. “No.” His tone was hard. “Was he the one…? We didn’t see that… that guy.” He turned away, teeth gritting and visible as he clutches his side. “There was just a hole on the wall further in, it led to a cave, a-and those _things_ came from there, I think… We didn’t have the time to check the tunnels…”

_“…What about the Chamber?” “W-Was the Soul inside?” “What was it…?” _More questions stumbled onto each other at the same time from the nurses.

The guard sighed and shook his head. “There was… this big tank, it shone blue, but the glass was so foggy– I couldn’t see anything…”

Nervous whispers flood the air right away. The automated warning from earlier– _stasis chamber… Was that what it meant? _

Daniel curses to himself. He grabs the guard’s dropped 10mm pistol and a fallen mag, startling everyone crowding outside the room, then he runs out–

Except he’s pulled back by the forearm, Dr. Hill just behind. “Where do you think you’re going?!” He demands.

Daniel’s expression closes off. “They need medical supplies and reinforcements up there.”

“You’re a kid!”

“I’m also _tougher_ than others my age due to mutation, remember?” Daniel pulls his arm from the grip. “If Dad caused this, then I want to help _fix it.”_

“…Native in spirit, aren’t you…?” Dr. Hill frowns with an exhale. “But we still have a trained guard who could do this here.”

“Only one uninjured.” Daniel dismissed. “The medbay has sick elders and you’re the only qualified doctor. He should guard this place. I’ll sneak up there because someone needs Stims now.” Daniel relays the situation quickly, before leaving. “Wish me luck!”

No one tries to stop him this time, although he hears a ‘Stay safe!’ from the medbay.

He reaches the elevator quickly enough–

The ride up is tense as he reaches the right floor – Daniel’s first objective is to enter the room where everyone was hiding.

_People don’t have the habit of carrying arms and medical supplies everywhere, and no one was expecting this; they had nothing to use but the supplies he was carrying now. _

He keeps low and looks out the hallway, seeing the wide cafeteria deserted, plates and cups strewn about on the floor, abandoned in a hurry– and an ominous set of footsteps somewhere below, in the atrium– _something heavy breathing, sniffing._

_If it has a sense of smell, then it would detect him sooner or later. He couldn’t stay still._

Daniel sneaks across the cafeteria as quietly and quickly as he could, just in time to hear something being broken to pieces below– an angry, animalistic snarl following–

A cold shiver runs up his spine– the lounge door is just ahead, he sees someone peeking through the blinds on the window– they make eye contact and Daniel turns to the door, pointing to it as the noise below grows louder, steps moving–

_It heard him–?!_

Whoever he saw thankfully listened to his nonverbal cue. The door is opened, and Daniel rushes in– the door closes right after, with him heaving to handle his wild heartbeats.

But the floor trembles ever so slightly– the beast might be investigating now–

The room was filled and overcrowded, Daniel turns to everyone, tiptoeing and looking back at the window. “Who’s hurt?” He whispers, turning back to them.

Those hiding under tables, or behind the billiard table, or behind bookshelves and couches– _no one could make too much sound, so the furniture wasn’t really dragged and thrown at the door yet. _

Daniel sees a hand raising and he quietly goes to them, a small group huddled around someone whose wound was covered with someone’s ripped vault dress.

Daniel had a certain amount of medical training, a little more than usual for people his age– _courtesy of his runaway dad– _so he materializes the supplies and sets to work on the unconscious citizen.

“Did– Did anyone die out there…?”

“…No, Bishop went to fight it and kept it distracted for a minute or so… Pretty much saved us…” One said.

_So the old robot was probably destroyed…_

The mood in the room is dark as people continue to mutter. _“How did those things get in…?” “They came from the Chamber below…?” “Why?” “Snyder said they came from a cave–” “A breach through the wall–?” “Breach…?” “Keep quiet…! That thing will hear us…!” “It can’t hear us…” “Just whispers through the metal wall, how could it…?!” “What if it can smell us?” “It would’ve found us by now…!”_

Daniel did what he could, having cleaned the wound, administered two Stimpaks, and dressed the wound with the remaining bandages. _Okay, as long as they didn’t need to stay here for more than a day, things would be okay…_

Once the emergency is taken care of, he reassures the family and turns to Shirley by one of the terminals, although he doesn’t see her family. She had been staring as he worked, crouched by the device, but mostly focused on the screen, occasionally lifting her head to peek through the window.

She turns to him fully when he approaches. “Danny, thank goodness… I’m glad you’re okay…” She sighs.

Daniel nods. “How long has that thing been there?” He wondered, jumping right to the issue.

“Some 8 minutes, I think… It just won’t leave, we think it might be eating the leftovers, but…”

_“Maybe it’s still looking for us…” _Someone nearby whispers. It’s followed by– _“Be quiet until we get the all-clear…!” “Where are the officers from the armory…?” “They’re not coming–” “Even armed, you really think they can take on that monster…?!”_

Shirley turns to Daniel. “There’s a second monster, I think they got held up…”

_“So, we’re stuck here…” “They’re dead…!” “Oh, Soul, please save us…” “What if these things killed it…?!” “Don’t say that…!” “It can’t ‘die’, dumbass…!” “So you say…! How would you know…?!”_

Daniel winces. He doesn’t dare look at anyone’s eyes.

_What if the Soul does die…?! If Dad did this and it kills it, they– well, for one, Daniel would definitely be kicked out… It’s the thing their ancestors have been guarding for generations–! _

_How could Dad do this?!_

“I-It’s coming up the stairs…!” Shirley whispers in fright, ducking out of sight.

Everyone stays still, absolutely silent, Daniel ducks under the window and listens closely as well.

His eyes meet Shirley’s as they feel its weight moving about just beyond the door– he hears things on the table being moved as it sniffed around the floor– _did it catch their scent?_

_If so, what if it could pry their door open– it sounded so heavy– _no one moves.

Daniel gulps– _and it sounds so loud– _the thing outside does a sudden move– _it makes him flinch– did it hear him somehow…?!_

But… it seems to move away… _turn_ away, the sounds not getting any closer.

Daniel feels such a strong, itching _need to_ **_look–_** _something’s off– _and before he knew it, he’s peeking through the window.

_“Who–” _He’s not the one who mutters because he’s not the only one who peeks.

The lizard’s eyes _aren’t_ what greets him beyond the glass– he sees its leathery and bony spine and tail– a bit taller than an adult man– short, pointy horns– sharp claws and sharp teeth, turned towards _someone–curiosity seemingly stalling the creature’s attack on–_

_A person?! _

Daniel gasps– he hears the same from others who saw it– but his focus turns solely to the person–_long blond hair, vault suit–man?–_ who now stood dangerously close to the beast– he seems to be _armed_ but he’s only staring as it huffed and sniffed a new meal– sniffed so close it could easily bite his head off–

Daniel’s eyes widened– for a moment, sound was all gone, blood rushing and vision narrowing with a fit of sudden anger.

_He’ll get **killed!** _

It lifts up an uncannily human-like limb to slash downwards–

Daniel doesn’t understand the immediate fright and _rage_ that gripped him and the intense reaction that followed– opening the door and running past it–

Barely hearing voices behind– _protests? He doesn’t even know–_

Gripping the pistol’s handle as he gritted his teeth and emptied the magazine on its back and skull before he was even properly aware of his own actions–

All 12 shots…! And it _barely staggers– _his gun clicked, out of bullets– 

The speed and ferocity with which the man-sized lizard turns to pounce startles him– _what the fuck did he do?! Why did he leave the room like this?!_

Daniel backs away and falls on his back as it gets excessively close and roars straight at his frightened face– _he’ll really **die** now**–**_

Something hits its ugly snout, knocking it away from him– Daniel is still frozen, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling– gripping the empty gun–

_What’s– a kick–?!_

And there’s–

In front of him– the long-haired man with a knife and a familiar riot-shotgun in-between him and the beast– it snarled loudly jumping forth to attack–

It’s just within the second he looked– things happened so fast– his eyes widened as the beast staggered away from a buckshot to its face just as it rushed too close–

The man himself sways dizzily for a second with the recoil– the monster somehow _wasn’t dead,_ lifting a clawed paw to its bleeding face–

It doesn’t recover in time to dodge as the man flips the shotgun and bashes it across the face so harshly the weapon broke to pieces, making the monster back away even further as the man approached as if he had the advantage–

The beast slashes into its attacker wildly and defensively, in a blink of an eye–

And the man had already dodged under it before Daniel even processed the movement– a knife comes up and digs straight into its neck, slashing sideways right after and spattering blood onto the floor as it howls–

The man backs off as it stumbles with its slashed neck, smearing blood everywhere until it drops and _stops._

Daniel watched, utterly shocked, barely noticing all the other crowded citizens who had ventured out of the safety of their hideout, openly gaping and wide-eyed.

The bloodied knife hits the tiled floor with a loud _clink._ The stranger steps back further, looking at it with a tired posture.

Daniel watched, total silence around him, still in shock.

_A stranger, with brilliant gold-colored long hair and odd vault-suit, dripping water–?_

He just killed a monster almost a head taller than him with a buckshot, a hard whack with the gun, and a knife.

.

_It was a widespread feeling they all felt. They didn’t know who this person was, but Daniel felt so sure…_

_He looked **familiar** to everyone._

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
.  
.  
Once upon a New Game, I left the vault and immediately went exploring behind it. Megaton was still in sight when a Deathclaw torn me to shreds. The end. 
> 
> I don't know what happened or why it was there. Might have been a mod, honestly. I'm not actually sure. But either way, that inspired this. :)
> 
> So, things I _do_ have an actual answer for:  
\- Deathclaws around vault 101, why they were there, and why they hesitate and not attack as quickly.  
\- America-loving dwellers eating _noddles_ on a celebratory event.
> 
> Oh well. This story has slow build-up, btw. There's a lot to cover.


	3. Some Harsh News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have done this right away, but I added some technical specifications (SPECIAL and looks and Karma) for this story's LW in the bottom-notes of the first chapter, and a basic summary for FO and APH at the top. I don't know why this didn't occur to me when I first uploaded.
> 
> This is my first time writing a Fallout story, so I guess it slipped my mind.
> 
> Also, 'Pre-War' is probably a better term for the series than 'Old-World'. It's a series right away here because I have solid plans that go all the way to Nuka-World (including New Vegas too), following up with some more nebulous ideas through FO76 (that'd require some hardcore worldbuilding on my part, since Bethesda couldn't be bothered), but that last one is not certain.
> 
> I intend to use this Part 1 as setup and base for all the others, and I'll only cover the first half of FO3 in Part 1. I'll be covering the second half, New Vegas, and FO4 in following Parts for the 'Pre-War Myths' series, and I think most of them will be around 10 chapters each, although, I guess each will end up being a little longer than my usual if I want to maintain this setting.
> 
> I think this whole thing is a weird crossover to make, so I'm not very surprised that it doesn't get a lot of attention. But I believe the way to go with this sort of fic is to build an audience slowly, and try to maintain quality with a regular update schedule. 
> 
> So, I'll do my best to update on **Wednesdays.**  
.  
.  
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**IX**

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.

.

_…Sounds…_

_It’s the first thing he’s aware of…_

_It’s all muffled… He can hear himself, too loudly…_

_A heartbeat– breathing– the awareness of these natural functions brings forth the next sensation._

_Warmth…_

_He’s warm and weightless everywhere… _

_His mind is so muddled… it doesn’t do anything with this information… It just sits there… until…_

_Something solid touches him– he’s… on the floor…? Not on a bed, where he usually wakes up…_

_Again, his mind is still, he doesn’t know for how long– he doesn’t feel time moving…_

_Then…_

The warmth is gone.

Sounds sharpen around him– it sounded like… metal… air pressure released… like rising above water after a dive, sounds exploding with clarity suddenly. Water is dripping around him…

_…What…?_

His mind staggers drunkenly, no memory comes forth, nothing happens, he’s just… lying still… But where…

He breathes in, feeling a pressure around his face, and on his head, and his shoulder and side–

_This wasn’t a bed…_

His brows crease, and his eyes blink open before he could think properly.

The world around… sounded wet, and metallic… big and empty…

He blinks a few more times, trying to decipher what he was looking at. His vision is too blurry. Finally, his mind and senses sharpen enough for him to realize.

He’s on the floor…?

That discomfort was from lying on a hard surface, and from a mask on his face, and he blinks again, breathing in and moving–

His body is so heavy… _moving is so hard… he doesn’t feel like he wants to wake up…_

_But this is not his bed, he’s… not where he should be… Where **should** he be, again…?_

He blinks once more, the damp heaviness in his eyelids diminishes slightly, and he places a hand on the ground, pushing himself up on his elbows with some effort, noting the tubes– needles in his arms and chest and neck–?

All through a jumpsuit that covers his body from neck to toes, and feels uncomfortable, tight and rough– harsh and inflexible against the skin–

And his face…? Something strapped– what?

His frustration mounts at the thought, and he rips it all off one by one, breathing in cold, metallic air, the pain of the needles dull and burning.

The world clears further, and he lifts a heavy hand to rub his eyes under the hair. His skin is wet and warm– he feels so _cold_ now…

_So, so cold… and empty… and alone…?_

A few more seconds of breathing– he pulls his knees a little closer, inhaling and exhaling so the world would sharpen further–

With that, he puts his weight onto his knees and sits upon his heels, hugging himself against the cold shivers, and looking around– his vision is blurred for a few seconds, partially obstructed by hair…

_Hair…? So long…?_

He brushes it aside, a few more seconds of blinking… It’s dark above, and the wet floor _glowed_ slightly…

Where…

_What_ is this place…?

He doesn’t remember how he _got_ here…

But he’s… he’s still at _home… _He can sense that… _That’s comforting…_

_Despite that comfort, he feels… small…_

He stretches his arms and back, the jumpsuit doesn't yield much, but he's immediately feeling the blood rushing forth to the tips of his fingers, so suddenly, as if it had been _still_ until he made some effort, and his heart picks up the pace, forcing him to breathe harder to compensate.

He notices all feeling coming back, his senses are frazzled but are getting back to normal again.

Slowly… _Good enough…_

He’s at _home…_ but he feels the border so close to him…

Yawning, he makes an effort to stand; his vision swims momentarily, and he waits for his balance to adjust. He couldn’t quite stand solidly still, though, and he swings lightly…

This is a platform… It’s circular, some four or five feet in radius. Once he’s stable enough, he walks off of it–

Vertigo hits him like a truck–

His feet hit the ground, and he stumbles onto his knees with a gasp, his calves burning the most– _shock, _he feels– _why did it hurt…? He barely fell three feet…!_

With an annoyed groan, he stands again, looking around him. Now a little more alert thanks to the pain and on the ground. He sees…

Eyes narrow at the scene. _A fight happened here…?_

He sniffs, there’s a slight hint of copper in the air– _drying blood? _

And there’s a wrecked robot not too far from him; its charred remains indicate an exploding core caused most of that… and the damage around it. It's very close to where he woke up…

_How did that happen…? That’ll cost so much money…_

He sighs and looks further around for a source, but it’s all silent around him, only the water and the metal…

And the flashing alarm lights…

_What in the world…_

Something glints in the watery ground, _a knife…?_

Grumbling, he picks it up– _he feels too naked without a weapon–_ and turns it in his hand to exam it, also expanding his senses to situate himself better too– it flows forth like a sonar–

Wait… Something’s off… He narrows his eyes at the thought.

Something’s wrong…?

His senses aren’t picking up much, it hits _walls_ everywhere he aims it at– it also moves too far vertically, way above him…

_Humans, _he senses that.

_His _humans, citizens. He can tell there’s a small batch of them, all around this place… A thousand and a half or so? Maybe nearly two? It's all too hazy yet. Is he–

Underground…?

He frowns, rubbing his eyes and walking, his balance not quite cooperating as he moves at an unsteady pace, looking for an exit.

He finds it, up the stairs, so he follows the path… Slowly, he pieces the puzzle together, despite his traitorous mind being so muddled and supremely uncooperative– _he’s underground, he was unconscious, under water…? He doesn’t remember how he got there… _

But _why? _He’s…

He’s at war, isn’t he…? He shouldn’t be in such a place…!

…He’d assume he was somehow _kidnapped_ by _Wang_ _Yao_ and his filthy Commie goons… but this place feels like _home_… He’s still in the US, surrounded by citizens… so…

He follows a long hallway, then finds an elevator, which he calls– it’s right next to a broad set of stairs circling it, and he considers taking it instead…

_Fear– _the emotion strikes him, but not from his own mind– it’s from _his_ people… He ruffles his wet hair as the shiver runs through his body– the doors open and he walks in.

_His hair is so long…? _Blinking in dazed confusion, he shakes his head and focuses on the fear– clicking the top floor button.

The doors close and he stares blankly, mind starting to rush.

There’s something off, something wrong in his home–

_Feels like an invasion. But… Anchorage was liberated months ago, wasn't it? Just… what the hell is going on now?_

He straightens his posture despite the wooziness– a few seconds are spent mulling over the chilly feeling. The doors open and he stumbles out into a dark, narrow corridor, focusing on the fear from his people.

_…He has to find the threat now…_

His senses are still rather faint, he can’t quite tell with precision what’s happening much further from him… but he can tell there are foreign bodies present, and that his people are scared…

That’s all he focuses on as he walks up the short flight of stairs and out into an… office? _No, no, not now. Threat._

_Eliminate the threat._

He blindly follows his gut-feeling in finding a path.

He feels like he _knows_ the way… somehow… He’s never been here…? But he feels like he has– _he **has** been here, then? _

_When?_

On auto-pilot, with shaky balance, he navigates without thinking much– _just needed to find the threat, neutralize it before it could hurt his people–_

_Find threat now– rest and ask questions later…_

His steps quickened, letting instinct lead him to the threat– _there, at the end of a corridor, close to a door– by a room where he senses scared humans hidden inside–_

He's not sure where he even is. But that's not important; what mattered was _this_ thing… Not_ really taller than him– animal–?– claws– seems pretty hurt… _he doesn’t think, his fist clenched as it turns to him– there’s _blood_ splattered on the wall close to it, a trail leading up to the door, and he scowls– it backs away and he takes longer steps to reach it–

_A lizard–? Doesn’t matter now– one of its claws is bloody__– it's hurt one of his humans__–_ it doesn’t react fast enough to avoid the punch– _his hand and arm hurt right after– _and it staggers away, his reflex kicks in and he goes for its neck without thinking–

Knife digging through hard flesh and ripping it open, letting it slowly die without further intervention–

_No, no time– another threat–_

He doesn’t stop to think or look at it– he walks past it– only registering a dropped weapon closer to the door, the room where citizens were hiding in.

He picks it up, not very weighty, it still had a shot left, and he keeps walking at a speedy, slightly wobbly pace– singleminded and focused on it– his path is _a blur–_

And he finds the second and final source of fear–

It’s a big place he’s reached – no sign of the sky behind any windows– nevermind windows at all…

He sees the _thing,_ though, just like the last one, if not a little bigger, and it’s hard to process what he’s looking at, there, on the other side of this lobby– _all metallic walls– he can smell blood and there’s anger and fear in the air–_

It’s climbing up a set of stairs–

_He can sense something mildly familiar in it– no, nevermind for now– _

But he follows after it, feeling the weight of his weapons. Then it looks at him.

Slight curiosity makes him stop. _It does seem curious too. _It sniffs and approaches– he’s waiting, unsure of how to react for a few seconds. It’s a bit taller, and he leans back as it gets dangerously close…

It _looks_ familiar, but he can’t bring up the memory that would help him remember what it was…

_It’s on the tip of his tongue, but… It couldn’t be… No, it wasn’t supposed to be this big, was it…?_

It snarls, huffing on his face– 

An automatic door opens– followed by rattling _gunshots_ that make him freeze for a second– the _thing _turns to the source with an angry snarl–

_Citizen in danger– do something–_

He clicks his tongue, following after– he kicks it away– _it hurts his leg, and the thing doesn't go far or even lose its damn footing– _he ignores its angry response and lifts the shotgun to give its face what seems to be the last shot in the chamber, recoil mostly dismissible–

Except the kickback makes him step back, he's shocked and unbalanced, and the thing shuffles away like a beaten dog, face bleeding– _but not dead–_

He feels no pity as he uses the weapon like a bat– it shatters to pieces as swings it across the lizard’s face– hopefully breaking some bones.

It snarls like a rabid thing, backing away as he keeps approaching– and it swipes at him, as if trying to make him to go away– his eyes widen. He acts on reflex, ducking under the sharp-clawed swipe and then using the knife– straight into its neck just like with the other, before he drags it and tears its flesh open with some effort, stepping back from the blood.

_Worked once, worked twice. _He sighs as it staggers and crawls, and he stands still, waiting for it to _die._

_…This should be the last one…_

_The fear has turned into something… warmer… and frizzy. _He sighs and drops the knife as the thing stops moving, then takes another step back.

_He senses no more invaders… Just citizens… He can rest a little… _

_He feels… so exhausted already… even though he barely did anything…_

Another step back and he drops to the floor leaning against something– a counter– behind, resting his eyes and almost dozing off.

_So… so tired… A nap would be nice… a nap on a bed…_

The high of a reflexive battle starts to dip down and down, and exhaustion settles like a heavy blanket. In the back of his muddled mind, he faintly senses his citizens moving about.

_“H-Hey…” _

Someone’s voice whispers close, and he lifts a hand to cover a yawn, tears pricking the corner of his eyes. “Hmm…?” He squints at who spoke–_ citizen, parent, adult, male, hurt but recovering– _then relaxes.

_“Are you… are you okay…?” _

He blinks, then nods. “Just tired… Thanks…”

He hears a little breathy laugh– _bittersweet, if not a little acidic– “No, no… Thank YOU…! Uh, for getting rid of that thing…”_

Acid is gone, it just leaves a gentle warmth… He hums. “…Gotta… keep citizens safe… It’s fine…” He mutters without thinking.

Nice warmth turns hot and frizzy – it’s so sudden it startles him away from sleep, immediately giving him a headache. He pulls his knees closer, rubbing his eye.

“Uhm…” The citizen’s voice sounds a little clearer. “Who are– ah, where did you come from…?”

He raises an eyebrow and takes a few deep breaths. He senses more citizens around, a little closer, their emotions tickling his senses, their connection to him sharpening his world further and dragging him further away from exhaustion.

Finally able to focus a little better, he looks around, a feeling of dread sprouts from his mind as he takes note of the structure, and then the familiar blue jumpsuits.

He, himself, is also wearing something similar.

_Familiar… Oh, what was it…? He feels like he should remember– why can’t he find the name, the word– _“From somewhere below…? Not sure where…” He ruffles his damp hair.

This citizen is staring at him so intently and wide-eyed… with that jittery buzz of a feeling– nervousness, anxiety?

“I’m… not sure where _here_ is, though…” He finally admits to the man.

He _is_ home… He’s sure of _that. But something feels… so off… He feels so… so small… Empty, a little cold– not as bad as before, but still definitely cold…_

“…This is Vault 101…” The citizen says softly–

_Vault._

And just like that, the memory hits him so harshly he freezes with a wisp of a gasp, eyes widening.

He’s startled, the world as sharp as it should be, his mind forcefully freed from its scrambled shackles by that single damned _word– _

He looks around frantically before stopping. “…I-I’m… in a Vault…?” His voice trembles.

_He’s…_

His cold dread made the citizen uncomfortable, clearly– he bites his lip, not looking at him in the eyes. “Y-Yes… You– Are you–?”

_He’s–_

_“I’m…_ Alfred F. Jones.” He enunciates firmly and stands, clutching the counter for support before pushing to stand straight with a deep breath. “And I don’t think I should **be** here.” He hisses. “I gotta have a _word_ with your Overseer…” He mutters through gritted teeth. He ambles past this citizen, ignoring the rather tumultuous emotions from his people, eyes on the nearest hallway instead, stepping over the blood and flesh of the thing he just killed.

Giant lizards? Wasn’t his government trying to create some big, deadly chameleons to throw at Wang’s Commies? There was a _hint_ of something that’s _his_ in there, so was this it?

Why was it here?

His genetic essence is in there, even if it’s just a fraction. His people made this thing with his help, once– _it looks so different, though…? _

How long ago was it?

_His hair covers his back too… How long was he down there…?_

Later, later… He’d think about that later…

For now, he ignores all the hectic feelings and emotions all around him in favor of finding his way to that office. He's sure it's where he came from, and he'd find the right person there eventually.

_Alfred wanted some damn answers now._

* * *

**X**

That security-batch arrives, barely a minute later, worse for wear, wild-looking and terrified – they deflate in sheer relief as they find the thing _dead_ already.

It’s difficult to deny the visible _shame_ in their postures…

They tried to fight, and then _hid,_ because they couldn’t fight the thing they encountered long enough to end it.

One swipe and one injured officer was enough to make them cower and hide in a room like everyone else, despite being armed.

Daniel didn’t want to think too harshly…

_It’s not like they had the numbers to fight literal monsters when so few Vault-citizens joined their ranks… but fighting threats to the people of the Vault was still their job. _

The fact that they had such a well-stocked armory and they _still_ chickened out was just… a _painful_ thing to wrangle out of them when they couldn’t explain where the _hell _were they!

_People were in danger and they just cowered?!_

But no one could really focus on these shameful actions, as they reported their side of the story throughout all the berating and shaming, as a meager attempt to defend themselves from the social onslaught.

Everyone who had seen the event unfold here had proceeded to look for others hidden in the atrium below and tell everyone what had happened upstairs and with the officers.

The reaction was… generally, disbelief. Mostly focused on _one_ thing.

The man Daniel had tended to with the supplies he brought, he had woken up with the stranger’s arrival, and the first to approach said stranger, too.

He was the first to sort of mutter his theory under his breath, almost like he didn’t quite want it to be heard, while at the same time having forced himself to even utter the words to share the thought.

_The theory was that they had witnessed the Soul._

Shaped like a man, with a name, and who seemed unaware of _his _own location in Vault 101?

Wild and insane idea…

But everyone felt it, in the air, the _coldness. _It felt like chilling dread as this stranger was told about his current location.

That expression of summating dismay and horror–

_How could this man be the Soul while unaware of it, not even recognizing them, and when he so clearly didn’t like to hear about being in Vault 101? They’d always thought–_

_They always thought the Soul loved them all deeply._

_That man did save them._

Rather brutally, and crudely, but–

Then that coldness turned to something hot – angry and determined. It made them uncomfortable with the idea.

It fed their own _dread–_ they didn’t know what was happening. Some didn’t want to believe this theory because of it. The_ stranger just **couldn't** be it,_ but…

No one’s ever seen that man in the Vault before, and anyone would remember if they had… He was… _ethereal-looking…_ Quite chiseled physically, features so typically Anglican, and the hair was long and bright, wheat-gold, skin flawless, and eyes an _impossible crystal_ _blue–_

_And the power to beat two of these monsters without a scratch._

Even those who wanted to deny it, still hesitated because they couldn’t deny _this._

_If the Soul were a man, he’d definitely look like a Greek god, right…? _

And this 'stranger,' who gave them a name, who defeated two giant lizards with barely any effort, definitely fit the bill. But it was just…

Jarring…

Daniel couldn’t think of a better word…

As far as people generally agreed on, the Soul was an ancient, sentient artifact of America, but no one could agree on what it looked like. To say that it was a man, with a name, who could defend himself, was certainly agreeable to the _Free_ perspective…

And honestly, Daniel had a hard time thinking otherwise now… He couldn’t unsee it, not after the idea entered his head…

As he thought of it, watching the mythical stranger leave after those chilling words, he saw Shirley helping him stand. She only berates him half-heartedly for running out, more focused on the more pressing matter like everyone else.

_Shirley didn't doubt the theory one bit. She seemed to agree wholeheartedly… Daniel would go as far as to say she fell in love right away with it…_

_There were tears in some eyes here and there… Everyone was talking about it, only interrupting it to discuss on whether they could go to their home-floors, but that never went on for long before the whispers and mutters about 'the stranger and the theory' continued._

They had a name there. Alfred F. Jones…?

The Soul had a name…? A unique one, no one in the Vault ever heard of it.

The order of events seemed to have the right timing, as the coms’ automated voice had warned of a system failure in the Chamber, where the monsters came from, and they broke something down there, injuring some officers in the process.

So… the Soul woke up as the system that kept _him_ asleep failed, and he made his way to the threat. Did he know they were in danger…? Or did he just sense the threat and came for it? 

_He certainly didn't act like he had a clue as to who they even where, but Daniel couldn't help but remember how quick he was to save him, someone who's not even native to the Vault._

_And he did say he was just_… 'keeping citizens safe…'

And now he went off, to talk to the Overseer… About what? About why he was here? What was happening? Did the Soul even know about the state of the world outside…?

…Was it okay to still call _him_ the _Soul? Did he even recognize himself as such, by the way…?_

Daniel is sure he’s not the only one wondering deeply about all of these questions and many more.

The guns were taken off the hands of the shamed officers, and those newly armed citizens were separated into groups to escort everyone to their floors through the stairs right away.

Soon enough, Daniel found himself on his floor once more, closing his residence's door and peeking outside like everyone else. It’s only when Daniel is alone in his apartment, looking at his abandoned dinner, that he remembers…

Dad left the Vault.

_Oh…_

He had somehow forgotten with all the chaos from before… He sighs and sits on the couch, mulling over what to do, and suddenly–

_…Daniel had a crazy idea._

* * *

.

.

.

**XI**

_Empty…_

_He felt… like there was a void so big in him, that he felt practically empty… Sickeningly so…_

_He had taken that wholeness he's always had for granted… because he didn’t know how complete he was until he was emptied of his spirit…_

_…Ripped away from his home…_

_Now he just longs to feel it around him again – the familiar comfort of the earth, his land beneath his feet; the structures his people built; their routines, emotions, lives… all working in tandem, every hour of every day, like a continually beating heart making the blood flow – anchoring him to this world, all together through their diligent hard work, fixing and maintaining and building–_

_That was his home– its culture, its history, its strength– and he was its representative, in spirit, living and growing with the energy they always created through their work and lives…_

_So why…_

_…Why was he still here… if he couldn’t sense any of it left in him…?_

_All he felt was a pittance of humans, in this small, suffocating metal-box, instead of the pulsing flow of life from the earth and its harvests and the vast networks of 500 million citizens…_

_…Now it’s just…_

_So little life, compared to before. Just metal, unfeeling, static, **dead–**_

Alfred blinks, shaking his head harshly and pulling away from the fog in his head, resuming his walk through the hallway leading to his destination.

It closed in when he got distracted with his thoughts…

…He had to be more careful…

He needed answers.

He needed to know what was going on– something was seriously _off,_ but his body’s sixth sense wasn’t always so right– there had to be something he was missing…

_His home had to be out there, somewhere… There had to be a reason why he couldn’t reach to it– something could be blocking his range… that's all._

Alfred closes his eyes and sighs.

_He was in a Vault…_

_Oblivious to the world outside…_

_…Isolated… Cut away from home–_

Argh…! Alfred slaps himself. _Stop it. Control yourself, soldier! _He thinks, straightening his back and clenching fists with gritted teeth.

He stops in front of the door to that office he came from, it’s closed now, and he hears faint voices behind. He hesitates, mindlessly picking at his worn clothing material from his cuff. _It seems to have prolonged acid exposure, but it only tore slightly at the seams because of it… _

_It was woven in thin strands, it all hugged his form, but it was still a stiff, resistant, uncomfortable fabric– especially around the neck…_

Okay… he had to focus, though.

He hears the voice getting louder, and he stops to listen for a bit– _“So it was Dr. Cross. It just had to be…! He’s the only one who would do such a thing– no citizen of this Vault would have dared to enter the Chamber…! William’s administration is in for a social lynching for this…!”_

More murmurs of agreement…

The words are harsh, angry– he senses the scalding hatred and sour resentment as well, from all of the people in the room…

_They’re his people–_

** _?_ **

Alfred pursed his lips, pushing the fog away, before smoothing his expression to neutral, despite their seething outrage, then presses the button for the door to slide open.

“What's happening down there– I just can’t believe this happened, the b–!” They see him, stopping dead-still.

Alfred tilts his head, eyes narrowing in judgment – _which the man no doubt felt, judging by that flinch._

The hatch that led to the chamber below was now closed again.

He sighs, pushing back the fog and the emotions threatening to make him spiral as he rubs his temple, walking in. He hears steps backward and hears clattering guns onto the metallic floor–

The sound and vibration make him cringe visibly, and it reflects on the knee-jerk needling of fear hitting him.

_He shouldn’t have dropped that blade…_

“Alright, man…” Alfred starts, giving the man a dull stare and crossing his arms again as he stands still. “Maybe _you_ can answer some of my questions…”

The air was naturally tense.

The Vault’s Overseer breathed in, not wavering too badly under his stare. “Officers. Please leave us to talk.”

Said wide-eyed officers seemed to take a few seconds to process the request, and Alfred didn’t look at them, ignoring the sharp pangs of fear and– awe?

_Was that awe?_

They picked up their dropped weapons– and Alfred watched that closely, not feeling safe while so surrounded and unarmed, nevermind their trembling hands and gulps and _fear–and awe._

Once alone with the door shut, Alfred relaxes slightly. He turns sharply to the human, face stern. “Why am _I_ in a _Vault?”_ He skips straight to the issue. "Explain that?"

That seems to startle the man; he looks at him quizzically. “Y-You… You don’t know?”

Alfred raises an eyebrow, unamused. “I wouldn’t be _asking_ if I did.”

The man takes a step back. “Right…! I’m so, so sorry! The, uh– Y-You, you were put in the Vault for your own safety, d-don’t you remember?”

“My safety.” Alfred parroted, tapping his foot for a few seconds before stopping. “Safety from _what? _Nuclear war?” He knows there are whispers of it; he knows his government is getting antsy…

But…

There’s no way Wang Yao will throw away his ancient-ass life just to kill him… He’s losing the war, and will soon be under _his_ authority even in mainland China, but…

Wang is not suicidal. _He’s sure of it._

“Not gonna happen. I don’t need to be _locked up!”_ Alfred spat, and then his tone simmers with quieter, seething anger. “Who gave Vault-Tec permission to _do_ this?” He began to pace. “It's borderline _treason,_ don't you think?” He couldn’t help but add.

“T-Treason?!” There’s a bristling _shock _that hits him then. “…Y-You don’t know…”

“Know what.” Alfred hisses. “Out with it.” He knows he’s causing some terrible _discomfort_ to this citizen– but he needs to hear what’s so uncomfortable to share– _had to know–_

“Okay, listen…” The man raises his hands to appease him, taking a cautious step back, head bowing slightly, trying so hard to not look at him in the eye– “The Vault was sealed, _w-when the bombs fell–_ It’s been _200 years.”_ He spoke, slowly, as if trying not to spook him–

Except Alfred froze, face blank. “No, no…” Then he shook his head lightly– glancing away. “…I’d have felt that…”

“I-I’m sorry…” The sorrow is _painfully_ genuine, but–

“No.” Alfred ignores it– takes a step back– holding all emotions at bay. “I wouldn’t have _slept_ through it. So you’re lying.” He points accusingly with a hard stare.

He _had_ to be.

**_Had_** to…

_Playing some kind of trick on him? Unforgivable…_

"I'm out." Alfred _had_ to get out of here– he turns towards the door–

“N-No, no! I’m not– please listen– just listen…!” The man approaches too much–

Alfred pulls away, eyes wide, not wanting to be touched– _the sorrow, the guilt, the honesty– it was all too real, and there was only so much he could do to ignore that– he couldn’t be touched– he couldn’t hold it away if it got too close–_

“I-I can show you, the records! It’s all recorded here, we have the data, y-you can read it– I’m not _lying_ to you…! You’re–” He stops.

It’s difficult to struggle with the rising panic– the connection he feels is so closely tight, in a way it never truly was with his citizens.

Not with the veil of _secrecy_ in between them…

It’s different… when they know _what_ he is… The connection, the link, it’s deeper, _stronger._

Alfred couldn’t turn away the emotions that reached him, but… _nothing made sense–_

He hesitates and turns fully to face him, waiting. _Alright… show proof then…_

The Overseer breathes in relief and backs towards the desk by the window where the atrium could be seen through, to the terminal there– the Overseer kept eyeing him, as if expecting him to _do something._

Alfred was very _close_ to leaving, in fact. His hands shook; there was nothing to grasp, not even what he wore– fabric was too unyielding and close to his skin… so his arms were stiff around him, fists clenching and loosening, foot tapping because he couldn’t stand completely _still–_

A drawer on the wall was unlocked, and the Overseer turned off the terminal, opening its side and pulling off its internal memory unit, then he goes to the drawer– _glancing nervously at Alfred on the way–_

“Okay…” Mr. Overseer pulls another memory unit from the drawer. “Each Overseer in this Vault used a unit in their years in office, and all of them are stored here, marked by year…” He breathes. “Y-You can check the first one, the date is there– it’s all there.”

It’s inserted in the terminal, and Alfred narrows his eyes at him, approaching– and that makes the man step away immediately, head down in what seemed to be submission, afflicted by anxiety.

Alfred eyes him with suspicion one more time before focusing on the entries.

First one, from April 2077… _What was he doing back then…? He can’t quite remember…_

_He remembers Anchorage, in January, he’s certain of that. That was months before…_

_Everything in those few months was blurry, and then goes blank in… August…?_

It mentions the Vault’s completion that month. All ready to be used… Commissioned by specific US generals, senators, and congressmen… Top of the line project, above and beyond the usual for Vault-Tec… even sapping resources that should have gone to _other_ Vaults. 

It sounded familiar… Did he help out with this project? He couldn't remember…

It mentions him, in a strangely impersonal manner, as if the Overseer didn’t _quite_ know who he was, but knew _what_ he was… The information was given by Vault-Tec…? They referred to him as a ‘soul’ of sorts… The Vault was to keep him safe, in case the bombs fell…

He’s… never heard of this part…

And Vault-Tec, Alfred figured they knew damn well who he was, he’s dealt with them in the past, no…? What’s with the euphemisms…?

_September 2077… _His eyes widened. _AFJ admitted into the vault and put in stasis? _He shook his head lightly. “…I don’t remember being put here…?” He mutters.

Unease and concern and _pity_ all needle him warmly, and he ignores it.

_October 2077… _Citizens start to arrive and settle inside. Not a lot of information is divulged, but the Overseer and his staff are instructed to foster American culture and patriotism inside– citizens are told they’re ‘guarding the nation’s spirit.’

It is meant to be understood metaphorically…

_Alfred needed to know– needed something– some sign– he wasn’t as close to a walking corpse as his shaky hands and numbness indicated._

Despite the cold, the smallness, the emptiness– there had to be something _more._

_On the **23th…**_

His heart quickens– he can’t even blink–

_The last citizens are admitted inside– door is sealed shut right after–_

_An emergency alert… _

_All radio contact with the outside is lost…_

_…Radiation levels outside skyrocket to lethal levels…_

_Things are stable inside the Vault. _

_More entries in months after–_

_November 2077– silence from his government, silence from Vault-Tec._

_December 2077– silence._

_2078– silence._

_2079– silence._

_2080– silence._

Nothing is heard from the outside again. Entry after entry talking about it, reluctantly accepting it–

_They were attacked, there’s nothing left out there, they’re on their own…_

_Years went by…_

_But still nothing from the outside…_

_The world is dead-silent out there…_

_But somehow, he’s not **dead.**_

_Like the rest of the world…_

** _…For 200 years…_ **

Alfred stared wide-eyed– he felt so cold suddenly– not able to face the direction his thoughts were leading him to–

_8 generations–_

_All spent asleep in a cold box underground while–_

_Everyone else– his whole family– his entire country– _he feels panic growing– breathing erratic–

A hesitant hand on his shoulder startles him, grief and _rage_ overtake him– he slaps it away as he stands, stepping back with a fierce scowl that makes the human back away– _in fright and awe–_ “You expect me to just _accept_ this and fall in line?!”

_Hurt–confusion–guilt– _he senses it all from the man, and Alfred _hated_ that.

The Overseer’s shoulders squared as he straightened. “We don’t expect anything like this from you–”

Alfred shakes his head; teeth gritted as he backs away, wide-eyed. “I don’t know you…! I don’t know anything _about_ you people! I-I don’t know why I’m here–”

“We _kept_ you alive…!” _Such desperate, grasping compassion and awe– _all which he ignored and pushed aside harshly.

“For WHAT?!” He shouts back– _everyone’s gone–_

Nothing but hatred for Vault-Tec was left in his eyes– and he grasps his own collar, wishing to rid himself of these clothes and colors marking him as _their_ propriety–

“What am I supposed to _do_ now, huh?! If you think for a _second_ that I’ll just bend over and _obey–!”_

He pulls the collar harder, feeling like it was choking the life out of him–

And the _shock_ that burns his neck and spine painfully wasn’t emotional– it was literal– and he chokes on his words and backs away, clutching his neck until it stops– “What the…” Breathing ragged, his hands shaking even more– everything burns.

It’s– “This suit…?!”

He pulls at the collar where the shock originated and gasps as he feels its heat.

Alfred scowls darkly and turns to the human. “What the fuck is _this?!”_

The human, in turn, feels _shock–surprise–horror–worry–_ all at once and it’s a gut-punch. “I-I-I don’t know– I don’t know…!” 

“It’s–” Alfred gulps and touches the collar– the confusing pieces of information start to click– he’s filled with dread– “…I don’t remember how Vault-Tec put me here, but they _did_ this–” He stops and it dawns on him like bricks on his head. “A-Am I just supposed to be your _slave_ now…?! I–”

_He has no power here– he’s stuck– cold–empty–small–weak– his **only** source of life is Vault-Tec now. _Dread turns to terror, and he backs away– _how's that even possible?! How–?!_

The human still approaches, hands trying to appease– “I-I’m sorry– I’m _so_ sorry– I don’t want to hurt you…!” The human attempts to approach further– _it’s soothing– but– _“I’ll find a way to get this off of you…!”

Alfred backs against the wall with a frightened gasp he couldn’t control– “Don’t _touch_ me!” He snarls on reflex– “I don’t trust you…!”

_This can’t be happening– _

_How could this be–_

_It had to be some kind of nightmare–_

He clutches his head, pulling his hair– _a nightmare…! It had to be…!_

_It **had** to!_

He feels himself slide down the wall until he’s on the floor– an involuntary sob and tears blurry his vision.

_…Everything he’s ever done– everything he’s gone through– every sacrifice– all the pain– all the battles– the wars– all that blood on his hands–_

_…All for **nothing!**_

The emptiness left is so all-consuming, gnawing his mind, unearthing memories–

** _“_ ** _…There you go, lad… You’ll be living with me now.**”**_

_He didn’t want to remember that– he didn’t want this to be real– he didn’t want to live like this– with so many regrets he couldn’t rectify anymore– so many mistakes he could no longer fix– so much he wished had been said and done– _

_It couldn’t be over!_

_He wasn’t done trying to **fix** things! He was so close! He could have done it–!_

Alfred doesn’t pay attention to the tiny world around him– he shuts it out– wanting to cut it all off so this pain could _stop–!_

He barely hears the shuffling, the walking around– hardly feels the emotions trying to dig themselves into his mind, demanding his attention– _he ignored it._

Then, something solid touches his neck– _a_ _‘click’ sound– _it startles him and he backs away with scorn, grasping his collar on reflex– the shock–

Alfred blinks. There’s no shock… He gingerly pulls the collar, and it doesn’t retaliate with pain like before… Blinking again, he turns slowly to the human kneeling in front of him, eyeing him warily. “What…”

The suit’s key…? The Overseer looks cautious, but… it feels warm… “Sorry, it… it took me a little while to find and unlock _this_ thing…” He gestures to the key– “You were so distressed, I could barely think straight…” He relaxes.

Alfred relaxes in return, but he remains mostly wary… “What… What are you doing…?” He asks, bewildered. “You can’t control me without this thing…”

_Vault-Tec put him here… He’d assumed–_ Alfred frowns, suspicious.

The Overseer shakes his head. “We’re _not_ Vault-Tec. We got rid of them almost right at the start… It, uh… It wasn’t very American to not have elections in here, so…” He shrugged awkwardly, tossing the key to Alfred.

Alfred, in turn, grasped it, and he looks down at it. Looking back up, eyebrow raising, some tentative hope fluttering– and then he’s suddenly _hugged._

His eyes widen, momentarily paralyzed by an awkward surprise– _warm, warm sympathy and compassion, _and he didn’t know how to even react to it.

The man continues, hugging him close. “After we elected our first Overseer, he found what Vault-Tec was hiding and… he shared it with everyone… We found out about the… the _Soul, _that sleeps deep under our Vault, and that _our_ job was… to keep it safe and alive, so we did…” He hesitates. “I-I know we’re not the same as… _actual_ citizens, born up there under the sun and the flag, but… the people of this Vault care _deeply_ about you– everyone here just wants you to be happy and safe… I swear.”

He feels his brows and shoulders relaxing instinctively. “Really…” He sighs, voice croaked, with tears in his eyes. “For 200 years…” He rested onto the man’s shoulder.

_The warmth, now that he let himself soak it in, felt very comforting… _

His outburst of emotion left him rather exhausted…

“I’m sorry, we… we really thought this was the best course of action… We didn’t know what you _looked_ like… We didn’t know you were so blind down there…”

A pat on his back and Alfred relaxes further… _Asleep and blind sounds better than waking up with everything he's ever built and loved turned to dust…_ "I’m tired…” He must have sounded more emotionally wounded and exhausted than he even intended, because concern prickles him from the man.

“A-Are you okay? I mean– something medical or…”

“I’m _fine…"_ He rolls his eyes. "Just tired from the fighting and shouting…” Alfred yawns, then pulls his collar, still half-expecting the shock, and then sighing in relief when it doesn’t happen. “Wanna get this thing off… A shower and bed would be nice too…”

_Funny… He’s had enough water and sleep, and now he wants more of that…_

The Overseer gasps and moves away cautiously. “Right…! I’ll let you rest in the bedroom!” He stands and holds his arm.

Alfred accepts the help– _too tired to let pride speak up–_ and allows himself be guided further into the Overseer’s Office, into an adjacent living quarter behind a door in it… Oh. “…What’s your name, by the way…?”

“Huh? Uhm…” The question seems to catch the man by surprise– did he expect Alfred to know that already…? “It’s Michael… Snyder, 31st Elected Overseer of Vault 101.”

Alfred frowns, but relents, too exhausted to feel much further after the storm of emotions before. “…Nice to meet you, boss…”

It’s a nice room, not very decorated… Bedroom with a bathroom, all decently sized for such a cramped metal box…

_…This metal box is his home now… _He sighs in desolation, walking in.

“Wha– I-I’m not your ‘boss’, you know…?” Snyder, his new boss, mutters awkwardly as he shuffles in a drawer– _feeling flattered–a little embarrassment–_

Alfred scoffs lightly.

He’s given some of the bigger sleepwear stashed in the drawers, and a towel, and with that, Alfred slouches to the bathroom.

“…The elected leader is _always_ my boss…” He mutters before closing the door, ignoring the _surprise _that needles his senses in response.

Small bathroom… but everything needed was there…

Taking off this _slave outfit _from Vault-Tec felt… like he could _breathe_ again. A one-piece jumpsuit that he had to practically rip from his body. The material was stiff, rough, and thick, made to withstand damage… _Like they didn't want him to ever take it off._

But it was so _suffocating…_ He hadn’t even noticed how much so…

The curiosity is faint, and he turns it over, looking for… aha. The source of energy that powered it, a small disk slotted into the back of the collar.

_Clever bastards… _He pulls it off, ignoring the wires and holds up the glowing-blue container, sized like a poker chip._ Using energy cells made from his own natural energy to power the suit’s punishing shock._

_No wonder it was so effective… Common electricity never hurt or paralyzed him that badly before. _But Alfred doesn’t have the energy to feel any more outrage over it, so he leaves it aside with a light scowl.

_Maybe after some sleep, he’d have more rage to spare for their memory._

Then, the water under the shower is lukewarm… But still so, so relaxing…

And his hair is annoyingly long… It covered his back…

He’d have to cut it soon…

Drying up felt comforting, while trying to dry his longer hair was frustrating… 

Putting on such soft fabric over his skin made him want to sleep right away, though…

Out in the bedroom, left alone, thankfully, he collapses on the bed, drawing the covers over himself and curling up for warmth beneath them.

…Much more comfortable… He feels himself melting on the soft surface, the last vestiges of tension leaving his body with a sigh.

But… there’s still _grief_ lingering so strongly…

…Honestly…

_What is he supposed to do now…?_

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
.  
.  
Whenever there's the need to control and manage someone with some kind of power, a shock-collar always seems to solve the issue. Funny that, I did the same in My Hero Aca fic. _But there was no release from that one._
> 
> I'm not very good with fight scenes, but I try. 
> 
> Here, I made the security here a bit lax and small in numbers, and I didn't think security officers who never dealt with anything besides other humans, who've been at peace for so long, would have the courage or the experience to face anything bigger than them, generally. So that's a problem for the future.
> 
> My version of 'America', Alfred F. Jones, I'll try to keep as similar to the Fallout Version of the US. It's what I think its spirit would have been like. Although, he has yet to recover before he starts acting 'normal', he won't exactly be the same he was in the past. That part of him is still in there, somewhere. It'll just take a while to see it again...
> 
> And the LW... I think we ALL do this when we're playing, no? Just kinda forget that we're supposed to be following the main quest, getting distracted by other things? Yeah. I wanted to capture that feeling of just _forgetting about dad for a while._


	4. At a Crossroads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to rewrite a lot of stuff.
> 
> I also got my hands on a Premium Grammarly for a few days, and man, there was a LOT of nonsensical and embarrassing mistakes in these last chapters… Fixed most of them, I believe, although I'm sure something slipped through the cracks anyway.  
.  
.  
.

**XII**

Daniel knows that everyone must have jumped at the public announcement written on their terminals.

He knows _he_ did.

His rifle rested propped on the desk.

Daniel still combed his residency for anything that could give him any inkling, any clue, as to what his father had been up to or where he was even going.

But he found nothing in his office at the medbay and nothing here too.

It led him to confirm his own decision – he began picking around for useful things, the few bullets in a box, the first-aid supply, what food and water he could carry, and atomizing everything that his Pip-Boy’s could hold in storage.

It wasn’t that much, a few pounds at most, and the rest, that he could easily carry, he had tossed inside a backpack and hoisted it around his shoulders.

As he paced around in search of anything he might have missed, he spotted the message on the terminal, and stopped, squinting at it before he gapes.

The Overseer would speak up about what’s happening, _finally…!_

Everyone was in an uproar, growing increasingly hectic, the text wasn’t keeping up once again, and if the elected leader hadn’t said anything soon, people would be knocking on his door that quickly.

But now, he’d be speaking at the atrium, and people could come to ask questions – preferably only one per family, to avoid overcrowding.

This was probably Daniel’s best chance to get to the man quickly enough.

He needed to leave.

Find his father.

Get answers.

The fact that _James Cross_ has left the Vault had quickly spread, primarily from the clinic’s staff who heard it first.

Now everyone who checked the public network was aware of it.

Daniel wasn’t looking forward to any _stares. _

_He felt so responsible, as if he could have done something – maybe if he’d paid more attention – spent more time with his dad – talked to him more often–_

But he couldn’t change the past anymore, nor could he hide from this. His father caused this mess. It’s only right that Daniel at least found out _why._

_It wouldn’t do to sulk in his residence and be 'the son of the man who broke their most precious tradition and mission to smithereens by nearly killing the Soul of their nation entrusted to them two centuries ago.'_

Once finished, draping a holster around his chest and shoulders to carry his rifle, he closed the blinds and gave his little home one last look-around before he turned off the lights, leaving his lifetime residency.

Immediately, he feels eyes on him, and he forces himself to keep walking.

“Oh, wait a bit there! Where do you think you’re going– again?!” Someone stops in front of him, a neighbor, father of two of his ex-classmates.

Daniel stops on his tracks, squaring his shoulders not to look that much smaller than the man. “I’m going out there to look for my dad.”

“Dr. Cross? Back then–” There’s a brief moment of confusion, before realization struck. “So, he really did _this_ and left?!”

Daniel tries not to wince, and he hears from above, looking up and seeing an ex-classmate leaning over the railing. “It’s really his fault then?!”

Then he hears other neighbors– _“He did this?” “He could’ve gotten the Soul killed.” “Maybe he did– that’s what Snyder will tell us now–” “You don’t know that–!” “We should hunt him down out there; this can’t go unpunished…!”_ _“Did Cross Jr. over there know–?”_

“I don’t know why he left, and I didn’t know he’d do this!” Daniel amends quickly, if only to avoid seeing himself become a pariah in real-time. “But I’ll go out there and find out why he did all of this.” He walks past his neighbor.

“Alone?” A father in his own right, his neighbor never shied away from extending concern to other youngsters like Daniel himself…

He takes the stairs instead of hogging the elevator, ignoring the stares of other citizens as he went. “I don’t want to cause any more trouble. I’ll be fine on my own.” He wasn’t sure– he didn’t know what was out there– but he _had_ to do this.

_What other purpose would a perpetual outsider have, anyway?_

* * *

**XIII**

_"Hey… You're my new boss now… Could you do something about this civil anxiety…?"_

_"Civil anxiety…?"_

_"Yeah… **Everyone's** is a nervous-wreck… It's making me too nauseated… I can't sleep with that anymore…"_

The only reason Alfred hadn't lost his meal yet is that there was absolutely nothing to lose in his stomach. But the burning anxiety plaguing every inch of his being was disseminated in such a large ratio across the population that he couldn't handle it for too long…

_**No one** was fucking calm about this. Not a single citizen was providing a hint of relief. Not even his own boss. Or the guard outside his door._

Alfred sighs, sitting up on the bed and looking around with a tired, deadened stare.

He doesn’t feel rested and he feels _sick,_ a constant lack of disposition. But it got worse, been a few minutes now. It feels distinctively like a _crowd, _awfully close to his position, hiking it all up to eleven…

Alfred shakes his head, rubbing his temples, breathing in and out deeply to repress nausea.

_Normally… when he wakes up after a 4 or 5-hour sleep… usually after three weeks of non-stop work… he’d immediately go back to work, with energy to spare and never this sick, no matter the social unrest._

_They were at war and there was no time to spare… The War Economy was helping him stay on his feet, despite the fuel prices and riots and food rationing…_

_No more meetings with other Nationees, no more wasting time with frivolous hobbies… The time for diplomacy and normalcy was past now that their resources are so strained…_

_Were_ strained? No… They still _are._

…He doubted the _oil_ was magically replenished in… 200 years…

Not like that mattered, though…

Alfred feels a shiver, rolling his shoulder to physically shrug it off as he focuses on the source of it. _Definitely a crowd…_

_Lots of… anxious concern, it burns uncomfortably… Lots of negativity. _No positive attitude to help him out… _dammit._

It’s irritating to be so debilitated, it makes him feel so much like shit, just _thinking _felt like a chore.

_Like fighting with total low-morale… It hinders all productivity and makes his dopamine levels sink like a rock. _ _His movements and reflexes turn so sluggish, that’s not good… __And on top of all of that, as if this wasn't enough, they make him sick too… Thanks…_

Alfred blinked at the thought, then clicked his tongue, glaring weakly at the door. _Why did he care…?_

_He lost the war, lost his home. He’s stuck in a hole. _ _He could be a miserable fucking snail, chemically incapable of happiness, and waste away all day, it wouldn’t make a goddamn difference, would it…?!_

And the anger evaporates just like that, because he _literally_ had no energy to spend in hot emotions anymore…

With a tired sigh, he stands from the bed, feet dragging to the bathroom –_ like waking up hungover, yay…_

The sight in the mirror _annoys_ him too, brows dipping. He _looked_ like shit, stress and exhaustion obvious.

Washing his face and digging around the cabinet for something to tie this messy hair with improves the situation marginally, but…

_He used to look clean-cut and healthy… _He can only mourn and pity himself, and he walks off with a huff.

That crowd outside is growing _painfully _anxious now. Alfred makes a quiet noise of helpless lamentation, and sits on the bed, grits his teeth, rubbing his temple. A headache now, great…

_Knock it off, will you…? It's so unbearable…_

_He asked his new boss to try and stop this… But when was the last time his bosses ever cared for his misery?_

That’s when he spots the terminal and the radio on the desk, past the small kitchenette and in the far corner of this tiny matchbox of a house.

_His curiosity be damned, he wished he could just go back to sleep… But not with this sickening anxiety burning in his body._

And thus, he finds himself looking for answers, so maybe he could at least know what was _intensifying_ his distress…

_Was that a speech out there? Was that what the crowd was about? It sure felt like it… In that case, the new boss had to have a damn way with words… He hoped those speech stutters were just present in front of Alfred…_

Terminal’s locked… Alfred rolled his eyes hard._ Child’s play, even while sick. He could probably crack this with his damn eyes closed…_

But he’s not in the mood… It’s unlocked within half-a-minute, and he’s lazily exploring its contents.

_Oh…?_

Alfred sits up straight with a frown. Their… network project…?

It’s actually _functional_ here?

Right there, loud and proud… Mass near-instantaneous messaging across a network of terminals…

His military was testing this thing…

_It seems like it works wonders… _ _If only they had figured out a way to implement this nation-wide for speedy communication and mass-sharing of orders and plans and research… It would have sped up logistics to an insane degree never seen before…_

_It wasn’t so simple when they tried with bigger systems, sure, the number of servers and processing power required to make it function on such a big scale were so huge and expensive that it wasn't feasible at that point… _

_But if they just had **time** to research things more–_

_Wang Yao would have been crushed so much more quickly if they had an advantage like this, and then–_

Alfred shakes his head hard, tempted to slap himself again.

_Drop it. _

_You’re **done…**_

He focuses on the terminal, and he gets a frequency. He turns on the radio as well so he could hear what this emotional ruckus was actually about, and why it was so painful…

_“–I’d imagine these monstrous lizards are a product of the radiation outside, mutated things, seem to have dug into the ground and reached our walls. My officers and I blocked the breach, but I cannot say the problem is fully fixed.” _

His new boss, yeah…? Sounded well-spoken now, addressing the public, personally… His last boss wasn’t even bothering…

_'Hadn’t been' bothering, that is…_

_Probably dead by now… That incompetent asshole…_

_ **He** would have left that shock-collar on… _

The new boss seemed nicer, at least… Actually doing what Alfred wanted of him? Amazing. 

_But politicians are still politicians, yeah…?_

_“Now… to the… biggest disaster… To soothe your worries first, no, the Soul is not dead, I assure you.” _He stresses the word.

Relief floods his senses like cool water during a heatwave, it makes him relax, substantially. Alfred sits back with a hum. The stress was still there… _but man… it wasn't nearly as bad as just a second ago…_

_It was a little easier to think now…_

Just a little confirmation of _his_ well being was enough to put such a huge dent in that state of total anxiety…

Alfred frowned. Despite the relief, the uncanny discomfort of being so directly addressed to _civilians _made his skin crawl anyway.

This never happened, not in this scale – and he turned off the radio with a grimace as he turned to the network for a context that didn't make him feel so odd.

_It’s always been a secret…_

Humans can work themselves into a tizzy with _safety in numbers_ when confronted by the unknown. Fear spreads easily.

Alfred held no grudges; they just wanted to protect each other…

But he got himself hanged three times because he was an awfully trusting child, and so he was perfectly _fine_ with humans being unaware of his existence.

He held no grudges, but he wasn’t going to get _too_ close to the common man again. The elites practically grew up with the knowledge, so he's never felt like it was a problem with them…

Now, with everything he could read in this terminal… It was so eerie…

_'__He meant to say the Soul looks human?’ _They ask.

Judging by the chain of semi-related messages, it seems the descendants of his people figured that this could be the case, _it’s just that no one was truly sure…_

_…Here, they'd thought him formless, like a spirit… Going as far as to say he possessed humans to do work that was his own, and attributed many of America’s greatest heroes to his influence…_

It was an odd, if not twisted mix of truth and myth… He _did_ influence many of those who went on to become heroes to his citizens… He never _possessed_ them like some kind of _ghost…_

_‘_ _The Soul is a man, then?’_

_‘A very young-looking man…’_

Alfred frowns at the screen. He’s not _that_ young-looking… He looks perfectly mature for his kind. _Exhaustion made him look older, but he was still 23 in looks…_

_This is… 2277… 17th of August._

_He’s been 644-years old for a month now…_

_He spent his 500th year in a jar and not bragging around family like he’d always thought he’d do…_

_‘_ _Was Dr. Cross truly responsible for this?’_

Ah… So… who’s this again…? Apparently some doctor _from the outside, _let in by the 29th administration. Alfred’s really just dealing with _all_ of this… because _some_ _guy_ decided to poke around.

Alfred cursed the man in his head. _If he ever sees the bastard, a good punch would feel great…_

_There were people _outside,_ though… Alfred wished he knew what’s left out there…_

_Did Wang survive? What if he did? What if he rolled over his home and conquered it? Just what is going on up there…?_

_‘Was the Soul hurt?’_

…It’s _weird_ that they care… about him, personally… and his hypothetical injuries…

_‘Can we see him…? Could we talk to him?’_

**No.**

Alfred doesn’t want to see anyone.

He feels too much like shitty garbage to stand the thought of anyone witnessing _this_ sorry-excuse of a Nationee…

It seems his boss had enough sense to deny them, but then, the messages change in tone, making Alfred scowl lightly at the screen.

Some of them write– _speak _as if he _owes_ them affection and love.

_'Why wouldn't he want to talk? Isn't he supposed to care about us?'_

_Yeah, he cared deeply about his citizens… But Alfred doesn’t know **these** citizens…_

_Not like he knew the American people – with whom he's been through thick and thin, for four centuries… it’s not the same– not the same– nope– nah-ah._

What the fuck did they even _expect_ from him…?! _There are 200 years of **nothing** in between them!_

_…It honestly felt like betrayal… to move on… He felt like he would do just that. If these were really his people now, holding a grudge or resentment for too long sounded like an impossibility… He hated this, too…_

_The bitter part of him wished he was **capable** of clinging to that resentful indignation forever…_

_…He probably could do that, if he were human…_

The barrage of self-righteous entitlement is mixed with more understanding voices at the very least, and it seems his new boss truly had a good head on his shoulders – or at least knew the right thing to say – and this nonsense changes eventually as well.

_'Let the Soul grieve,' they say…_

Grieving… Yeah, grief is probably what he'll be stuck with now…

Then, words of shock and dismay and _pity_ in the network are accompanied by a feeling of unease and anger – people’s general distaste for his _old_ _contractor_ seemed to be skyrocketing suddenly…

_As if Alfred needed the incentive to hate the **traitors…**_

And oh. The man is just up and telling them _everything_ that happened in the office.

And Alfred can only stand from his seat and stare in disbelief. He didn’t know what to feel about this ridiculous level of transparency, maybe because he's unsure he's ever knownwhat’s like to feel such a strong sense of _trust _and _honesty _in a citizen-leader exchange…

Now he feels strangely _exposed, _and he's not sure he likes it…

The messages switch, people were instead outraged at _‘Vault-Tec’s nerve,’ ‘attempting such a shameful plan,’ ‘their treatment of the Soul was unacceptable.’_

Huh… Outraged on his behalf… Alfred tilts his head at the screen, eyes narrowing in confusion. He usually had a pretty firm grasp of his own emotions and what they meant, but with this…

He wasn't sure what he was feeling about _this…_

The events told by the Overseer, coupled with what seemed to be decent story-telling skills, were enough to ease the anxiety and stress, despite the nature of the source of these events.

His mind cools down, slowly. Nausea grows weaker. The headache stops. 

Alfred turned off the machine and ambled back to his bed. He no longer felt such unease or so unwell that rest was impossible. _Maybe his new boss wasn't lying that much before… _

Maybe now Alfred could actually _sleep_ a little more. Just to let this shit _sink in…_

* * *

**XIV**

The speech was great…

Daniel kinda felt bad that he didn’t vote for the guy, since he eased tensions so well.

They were still trying to clean the bloodstains, even during the speech, but the appropriate heads of management and their workers managed to get that _thing _to the waste-disposal-room. _In pieces. _Same went for _its friend_ around the armory…

But thanks to their new Overseer, people managed to calm down despite that display…

There was some _doubt_ still in the air, but that was quickly amended by the witnesses of the initial attack in the atrium… 

It’s not like they could say for _sure _what was the Soul _really_ like, not before this, but… it seemed to _click right…_ It didn’t feel too far-fetched. Daniel dared say it felt _appropriate,_ like he _should_ have known this…

Maybe it’s because he’d already seen _him._ Even then, when he first laid eyes on him, it felt _familiar…_

So, the Soul is not an it, and is, in actuality, a _he._

It ends up not being so difficult to accept it and move on from there despite that brief lull of doubt. It felt right, after all, and citizens wanted to trust other citizens.

_Lies are poisonous, after all. Everybody knows it._

And clearly, so is _anxiety,_ according to everything the Overseer shared during his speech, and the Soul didn’t need any more _stress._ They had to ease their own turmoils, they were told.

_He _was not happy to discover that 200 years have gone by. He wasn't happy to discover that the nation was gone, that the bombs fell… And he wasn't happy to see _them._

The Soul was already awake and distressed at the state of things, much to the Protects’ mortification.

Yet… he was also not fully benevolent to them, much to the Frees’ despair…

But they had to keep their fears in check, the Overseer told them. _Social Anxiety, the Soul called it, and asked the man to ease the people's fears. It was literally making him **sick.** _

And at the end of that tale, both sides were so _defensive_ against Vault-Tec’s actions towards their protected entity, completely _livid_ at how they put him in the Vault against his will, and outraged at their attempt to steal his liberty right after.

Now the Overseer’s speech got everyone so eager to meet him personally and showing him that they cared, that he could trust them, that they didn't want to hurt him or make him sick…

_That he could move on **with** them… _

_The Vault citizens wanted him happy and safe more than **anything** in the world right then._

And thus, after the speech, Daniel rushed to follow so he could request a quick meeting. _Dr. Cross was his father, and he needed to speak to the Overseer about it._

_They escorted him right through…_

Now inside the large Office, Daniel can’t help but marvel a little. It’s _bigger_ than he remembered from his childhood's school tour, and he was greeted by another officer in the corner of the room, guarding a door.

_And no one else. _

_Especially not a Soul who could possibly not appreciate Daniel's existence near him, considering what his father had done. _ _And…also considering that Daniel wasn't like everyone else…_

_But then again… he did go through the trouble of saving him, so maybe he was being stupidly paranoid…?_

The Overseer walks to his desk in front of the large, round window, sitting behind and motioning for Daniel to approach. “Alright, kid… Start from the beginning.”

“Okay…” Daniel breathes in and nods as he sits down. “I went to my residence right after the election was done, and I found a holotape Dad left, where he told me he’d be leaving the Vault. He said _nothing_ about it before, and he didn’t mention any reason in the holotape.”

He was making his case.

He didn’t know any of _this_ would happen.

Snyder hums. “Can I see that holotape?”

“Sure…” A little embarrassing, it felt personal… But if it was needed to prove his innocence, then… _So be it, he didn't want to be banished._ He fishes it from his pocket and hands it over.

After listening to it on the terminal – while Daniel tried to keep from flushing – Snyder sighs, rubbing his face. “He _had_ to have known he wouldn’t be barred from leaving if he wished to, and he couldn’t have known about the breach… so there was something he wanted down there.”

Daniel frowns. Something he wanted… Oh…

“Did Dr. Cross ever… show _any_ _interest_ in the Soul…? Ever expressed a desire to see what’s below the Vault?” Snyder asks him, eyes narrowing.

Daniel couldn’t help but let out a disbelieving huff, head tilting. “To be honest, sir? He’s always been the person who’s _least_ interested in that.”

The man hums again, pondering. “I suppose we won’t know his reasons unless he tells us himself…” Snyder crosses his arms, leaning back on his seat, then eyes him up and down. “I see you’ve armed yourself. You weren’t expecting to be banished, were you…?”

“U-Uhm…!” He stutters. “Sorta? Maybe, I guess…” He _was_ totally ready for it, really.

“It’s fine. You didn’t do anything wrong, kid.”

A sigh of relief escapes him. “Thank you, but that’s not why I packed up, really.”

“Oh?”

Daniel straightens up. “I want to go out there and look for my father.” He states firmly.

Snyder stares, then nods slowly, nudging his chin thought. “I see… You saw those monsters, didn’t you? There are probably more up there.”

“I understand. I still want to do this.”

“…If you’re so sure…” Snyder glances away, and a thought seems to come to him suddenly. “Hold that thought.” He raises a finger to him and stands, walking to the door in the corner.

A nod to the officer, some very hushed words, and the door slides open with a hiss, the Overseer disappearing further inside.

Daniel watched, anxious. _Was that the room…? The room where…_

_Oh, no…_

Several seconds go by… Then there’s a _thud, _and then more– _steps, _and suddenly, he’s facing those impossibly bright blue eyes again, now in a much livelier expression of apprehension. “Someone’s going outside?!”

Daniel blinks, somewhat struck by awe and dread. _He barely sounds that much older than Daniel himself, and now he looked even younger, with clean clothes and hair tied._

The Soul blinks back, then frowns and points lightly. “You’re a kid…” He doesn’t give him time to reply and turns back to Snyder behind, still pointing. “That’s a kid.”

_A ‘child,’ that is…_

…Compared to _him_, _anyone_ was a child…

But still. “…I’m an adult.” Daniel states, a little unwilling to be dismissed as a brat so quickly.

The _look_ he gets says his words weren’t convincing. It, in fact, reminds him of his dad's admonishing looks, and it makes him look down almost on reflex. “I’m sure you’d have said the same at 10.” That’s true, _and a bit dismissive._

He doesn’t quite _trust_ anyone yet… _Daniel wanted to protest further. He's never thought of himself as 'submissive,' but for the life of him then, he couldn't open his mouth. _

_Not after that look, it made him feel so much like shit suddenly, it was honestly baffling how visceral the dismissal felt._

_At least he wasn't angry… was he?_

Snyder interferes. “Daniel Cross here is not native to the Vault. He’s a lot tougher than us due to his genetics.”

“Oh… _Is that r__ight…?”_ There was _something_ in that tone – Daniel feels the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

_He’s always been a bit self-conscious of this – he wasn’t native – his genes weren’t pure – he couldn’t even have a family here…_

_But couldn't he tell them apart? _

“That was from a previous administration.” Snyder admitted. “The guards heard crying on the other side of the Vault’s door, and that was Dr. Cross and his son here, an infant then. The Overseer didn’t have the heart to ignore a crying child…” 

“Right… I’ve read about it…”

"The boy has always been a good citizen, however. Never caused trouble." Daniel relaxed slightly at the praise. 

The Soul turns to pace a bit before turning back to Daniel, clapping his hands together. “Then… would you mind doing me a _favor?”_ His smile is so hesitant, like he’s not sure he even _should_ be asking anything.

_It’s immediately exhilarating to be addressed directly–_

Daniel breathes in and out to gather his wits. “Y-Yeah, of course…!” _Oh, what the hell happened to his voice…?! That was weird_…

The Soul bites his lip. “We’re in DC, right…? Could you _check_ the state of things at Capitol Hill…? And _if_ there’s anything still standing, like the National Archives, or the Museums and everything else, could you look for, I dunno, _anything? _I don’t know if there’s anything _to_ _find_, but it’s worth a shot…” He was then fiddling with his hands.

_The same hands he used to kill man-sized lizard monsters mere hours ago…_

It was certainly hesitant… Nothing like the entity he saw standing tall before a mutated result of radiation.

It’s… vulnerable… _He’s trusting him enough to ask… _Daniel felt quite the shiver – a sense of warmth and fuzzy pride that he couldn’t help but enjoy.

_And just like that, there seemed to be no possible answer other than ‘yes.’_

So Daniel nods with a small smile. “I can do that… I’ll check it out.”

He gets a sense of relief in return, and it feels like _heaven_ for a second. “Thanks… Good luck with that, but… just don't take any stupid risks, alright…?” The Soul does look exhausted, and he returns to his room, not quite waiting to hear Daniel's response.

Daniel relaxes when the door closes again. _Pretty amazing to see him up close…_

_It was warm and comforting – he felt more at home than ever before in his life… He wanted, for a brief moment of recklessness, to hug the Soul and thank him for a bunch of things Daniel wasn't even aware of._

Snyder sits behind his desk again. “Well, as you can see… he is still mourning the old country, and I feel like he’ll never recover without knowing what’s happening out there. I understand you’ll be searching for your father, but how do you feel about being _Vault 101’s scout?”_ Daniel turns back, wide-eyed. “You’d be required to bring information on any place the Soul wants to know about, and I’d ask you to be _thorough_ enough to satisfy his requests, least he feels like he should go outside to see for himself. This would be a paying job, of course.”

Daniel could barely even believe it…! To be given such an important task as his _actual job?_ He’s always thought he’d be nothing more than an unmarried gunsmith! “I-I’d be honored, sir!” He stands with a hesitant grin. “I’ll bring as much information as I can, and I’ll look for any important items still left at the Capitol!”

“I like that spirit." Snyder grinned. "See that you do, then. You can use the stock in the armory for your travels as well, if you need ammo or medicine. Play it safe, and good luck.” He’s given a nod with a quick salute, which Daniel returns on reflex.

With that dismissal, he is free to leave.

As he's just gotten permission, he does stop by the armory, taking a few extra supplies, and a secondary weapon in the form of a good .44 revolver, a better, more decently armored vault-suit, some combat-gloves, before heading to the entrance, passing through the atrium, going towards the Vault's main elevator.

“Danny!” He hears and turns, seeing Shirley and some of her friends– _not really his, mostly hers– _sitting together by the back rows, the people had dispersed a bit by now.

It wouldn’t hurt to talk before leaving, so he approaches. “Hey, Shirley.”

One of her friends glances at his bag. “Are you going anywhere?”

Then another with a gasp. “Were you banished because of your dad?!”

Then another with a confused frown. “That sounds illegal.”

Daniel resisted the urge to rolls his eyes. Shirley did look worried, awaiting his response. “I wasn’t banished, but I am actually leaving the Vault.”

_“Wait–” “What?” “What?!” "Danny, why?!"_

“I’ll just look for my dad out there. I want to know what he was thinking…”

_“Why…” “Why do you care…?” “You don’t know why he left?” “If he’s smart, he’ll stay away…”_

Shirley cuts over the chatter. “But you don't even know what's out there! How can you think about going _alone?!_ Do you really need to know that badly?”

“I do!” Daniel states. He felt like they wouldn’t understand, being natives with native parents who didn’t cause the biggest change in this Vault’s history.

He _had_ to do something about it.

“But that’s not all I’m doing. I’ve got a _job_ as the Vault’s scout!”

That gets their attention – because for the Free base, expanding outside was _always_ a big idea.

And Daniel continues before they could rattle him with questions. “So, now my job is to go out there and record the state of things, because the Overseer doesn’t think the Soul will be okay with being oblivious about it. _He_ actually asked me _personally_ to visit specific places and look for, uh, ‘anything left’? …Soul wasn’t very precise on that, and he looked pretty exhausted, so I didn't press…” He trailed off with an awkward shrug at the sight of their wide eyes.

This time, Shirley actually joined in with the barrage of questions– _“You…” “Talked to him?!” “You actually saw him up close?!” “How tired did he look…?!” “Was it ‘sleep-deprived-tired,’ or was it ‘sick-tired’?”_

“Sleep-deprived, mostly…”

_“Holy shit, how–”_

“I’m sorry, I can’t stay and talk, I really gotta go!” Daniel backed away before he got roped into the gossip.

Except they try to hold him back to get more information, but thankfully, Shirley steps in between them– _“He’s on a mission, leave him be! Good luck, Danny!” _and she turns to hug him, and it's momentarily a blissful moment, before she lets go and pushes him towards his previous path. "Be safe!"

"Right, thanks…" He waves back with a thankful smile. With that, he finally manages to slink away, back to his previous path towards the elevator.

He’s on a mission.

_Find Dad._

_Scout the DC area._

_Visit the museums and the National Archives to look for anything he could bring back._

And most importantly, _don’t die._

The elevator’s doors open for him and then close once he clicks the top-button. First-floor.

_Don’t die… Easier said than done._

Only three guards meet with him at the top, before escorting him to the giant steel-doors. It's a big room… 

_He's… never actually seen it personally…_

He looks down at the googles they handed him at the armory. Living his entire life under artificial light, they told him sunlight would most likely burn pretty badly. So he wraps it around his head whilst he’s still under the protection of his home.

No one wants to say a word.

The guards give him anxious glances, one turning to the control room and approaching the terminals, the others standing with their rifles ready. _They don't want to open this. Daniel almost doesn't want to, either…_

However, when all the levers are pulled and buttons pushed, the alarm sounds, the lights flashing much too similar to the emergency alarm of the attack, and they step back. While Daniel approaches the catwalk leading to the door.

It whines with a grating grind as it slowly opens, and he keeps walking towards it, giving a nod and salute to the guards on his way, which they reciprocate indecisively, more bewildered by the sight of the door grinding to a stop as the blaring alarm goes quiet.

Daniel, too, stares wide-eyed at the opening, pushing past his own anxiety, and excitement.

The outside is a long corridor of polished rock and metal floor, darkened, with the doorway at the end being the only source of light. It was a blinding light, and he pulled the goggles over his eyes. 

_It's cold, _he notes once he finally steps through, then hesitates a few steps.

_"Good luck out there, kid…" _He hears one of the guards, solemn, and the alarms sound again, to close the door. _What if he **was** banished…?_ _What if it doesn't open when he comes back? What if…_

Daniel nods, breathing in deep. "Thanks." _Mission. He's got a mission. An important mission. _

With that, he keeps walking, even as the door screeched closed behind, and he won't look back until it's time to return home, with his mission completed successfully.

_Vault Exit _was written atop the doorway, a broken door busted through lain on the ground, it had a rectangular window, cracked and smudged glass. Bulletproof_, but people dealt it a lot of damage before the door was broken completely…_

Stepping past it, Daniel only winces a bit once finally under the light outside, his vision not so obstructed thanks to the eye-gear, and then he exhales the air he'd been holding, focusing on the sight of skeletons left around this place, clothes missing…

He gulps and looks away, moving with some caution on the concrete-paved ground, past a set of stairs, towards the broken rails at the edge of the hilltop. A gloved hand rests on the rusty rail. "Oh, man…"

He could see it… Just barely recognizable from the incredible city he'd seen in the pictures and movies, in the distance…

The city, and everything he could see, it was all a _wasteland…_

Only bones of what it once was, with arid dust carried by the wind.

Daniel didn't feel like he'd have _any_ good news to bring back…

.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
.  
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I still feel a little dissatisfied, but I better move on or I'll get stuck. I'm sure next chapter will be uploaded faster than this one.
> 
> Also, we're practically done with the too-angsty-to-move shtick, I promise. :)


	5. Have Some Self-Respect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want this story to have 10 chapters, before I move on to Part 2, which is not pre-written at all. I only have simplified plans written down for that.
> 
> But there's still a LOT of story to get through, I think, so I guess chapters will be pretty long from now on.  
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**XV**

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.

It's been a few hours now, and he already felt relatively _better_ than before.

Alfred almost dreaded full recovery.

It was inevitable, of course…

It wasn’t common for his kind, _Nationees,_ to wallow in grief because of tragedies. There’s still work to be done after all. Tragedy doesn’t make their enemies disappear. It doesn’t stall any threats. The world’s still spinning and danger is still lurking. Nationees have to move on, _quick, _before they can be struck again…

_You never know when idleness will be lethal._

Naturally, he expected to feel a bit _restless_ eventually. _Maybe it was just too soon for him to accept, but it didn't matter._

He no longer felt so miserable that just _moving_ was some kind of heroic effort. His mind was recovering, whether he felt ready or not… And while anxiety still lingered like the aftermath of a bad cold, it was no longer soul-crushing.

If he were a human, mental recovery wouldn’t come with such readiness… It felt like betrayal to let _the descendants_ influence him like this.

He sits up on his bed, cross-legged, alone in his empty room, and closes his eyes for a bit, focusing with a deep breath in – he can feel…

_The flow of water and energy–the force of workers–the warmth of socialization–_and it’s _so_ close and _intimate_ that he grimaces and pulls away.

Everything feels so _local_ already, it’s almost claustrophobic.

He’s not used to such a tiny place with a population so crammed close together… It wasn’t like _this_ before. It never was, not even in the inner cities with _millions…_ The connections were so knotted and tied, that while a positive holiday would probably land him on cloud nine, a single murder or tragedy would knock him off his feet for a moment…

_Because everyone would feel something about it. Absolutely everyone. It would just magnify the shock when it went through him…_

If only there was some distance and space to stretch his spirit a bit…

He’s still in a vault, though, so there'll be no stretching for him. It’s his new home, it’s all he had left, and it was unyieldingly _metal…_ At least, he's certain of his reality and these limitations until their scout came back with information. He’d have to be content with this until then– _he would be content, eventually, whether he wanted to or not._

Alfred ruffled his hair, still somewhat tied, loose and messy since he slept on it, and he stood and wandered around the room to appease the growing agitation, _just to kick the can down the road a bit._

It’s a single-bed apartment. There's the desk in the furthest corner close to the door, which is next to a dresser, a bookcase in front of the bed, right by the bathroom’s door, just like the double-bed he slept on, squeezed close to the walls with nightstands on each side, next to another door that he slid open to reveal a small storage space/utility room, right next to the compact kitchenette space…

Walls and floors were metallic and cold, with no windows. _He’d miss the sun… _

Alfred meandered around the room, touching and exploring mindlessly to distract himself, but that wore off quickly. He had found authors he recognized in the bookshelf – _some very unknown ones that still didn’t sound foreign –_ opened the dresser to peek – _saw the blue suits he wasn’t ready to wear._

But the room was too small, there’s no more wandering to do, so he poked around the tiny utility room as well.

He found some basic tools, laundry machines, some stored junk, and a boxed Pip-Boy that didn’t really look broken.

_Hmm… _Alfred turned it in his hand, raising an eyebrow, before putting it back in its place. _Normal versions didn’t really read him well… Tended to just glitch out unless it was modified specifically to fit him… _

Not finding much of use, he started taking other junk apart as a distraction instead…

Tinkering was fun… But that didn’t last either. He’s still restless.

Somehow, it’s not listlessness and grief that plague him most after an hour or so, it’s _boredom._

_He genuinely hates how quickly he’s recovering from the loss. Curse the nature of his kind… He feels like a disloyal dog, it’s downright dirty, like he’s violating the very sanctity of his old identity by still existing like this…_

_But he’ll just have to deal with it…_

Fidgety but still unwilling to leave the relative safety of the room, Alfred resorted to waiting lying down, monotonously staring at the ceiling, tossing a rubber ball he found tucked away, up and down in a repetitive task that kept him distracted enough.

For another hour, until he sensed that Snyder, his new boss, was back in the office.

Just as usual, he enters the room to check on Alfred and how he was feeling. _“I’m better now…” _Although Alfred keeps throwing the ball, mulling over what to do and what to say…

_The anxious stress wafting from the man was kind of a discomfort, though._

“I’m sorry– Am I causing you some distress now?” The questioning words were concerned and small-toned as he entered his field of vision.

The ball hit the ceiling, bouncing back loudly, making Snyder twitch, and Alfred caught it, “You’re fine.” It was a mild deadpan the man found intimidating, apparently… So, Alfred sighed and sat up, tossing the ball back and forth between his hands. “But what’s got you stressed, anyway?”

The question caught him off-guard, it seems. “…Well. You see–” Snyder raised a finger, drawling the words to give him time to pick his next words more carefully– _typical politician trick– _“I believe… the Floor Reps are getting a bit too impatient and restless.”

“Ah…” So that’s what was amplifying the _restless feeling…_

“They seem to think I’m hiding something– that something happened to you and I’m covering it up…!” Snyder gestured around generally with an awkward laugh. “But I wanted to give you time to recover, until you’re comfortable, but some of them don’t even believe me anymore.”

Alfred frowned, somewhat repentant for causing his new boss this much political insecurity right off the bat. _The guy hasn’t even wronged him yet. Alfred usually has the courtesy of **waiting** until they show their true colors… if they hadn’t as congressmen or whatever already…_

But it’s just occurred to him that he doesn’t even know how his new system works now… He didn’t know its limits, or the consequences of this political insecurity, or how far he could push it in any given direction…

_He hates being politically clueless…_

“Okay… First, could you explain how this government here works?” 

“Oh?” Snyder stepped back and sat more comfortably in the seat by the desk. “Uhm, in its simplest terms, there’s the elected head of the Vault, that’d be the Overseer who appoints the judges if any of the five seats are vacant, and then right below are the five elected representatives for each residential floor, and their voted picks for head-doctor, engineer, teacher, if there’s vacancy or if everyone votes on a replacement… It’s not big, doesn’t have a lot of bureaucracy, but it’s been working since the beginning.”

"What about checks and balances?"

"There _is_ separation of power. Each branch is mostly independent, and no one branch can really make any absolute decision on their own without the other branches weighing in."

_Fairly simple… He still needs to study it more thoroughly, however… _“Was it Vault-Tec that set up this government here?”

“Oh, no, no. The first Overseer appointed his successor directly back then. Fully totalitarian and with no real judicial…”

“Back when?”

“That’d be in 2085, when we locked them up and held our first election. _Walter B. Wilson_ led the movement, he was once part of the original army before entering the Vault with his family, and he’s the one who set up the system when the people voted him to be in charge.”

_Oh… One of his boys, then… That’s sweet to hear… _“And you’re the 31st?”

“Some had multiple terms…”

_If this is his home now… it’s only right that he learns its history already… _

_Know its leaders, its struggles – as much as people could struggle in a hole underground…_

_Maybe then he’d know how to proceed. He hates stumbling around blindly… He knows nothing about these people, the descendants of his citizens…_

So he keeps listening and asking, trying to plug the holes in his knowledge and trying to find common links to his old history and system.

_But it’s still… distant. _

Alfred can have a diluted, second-hand experience from the emotions this history brings to his new boss right in front of him, and it's all very positive.

But that’s just it. He didn't live through these struggles personally with these people… He was asleep the whole time…

That's the problem. It’s _second-hand._

_On the flip-side, however…_

Some of the most significant conflicts seem to have something to do with _him, _and most times, people involved had _his_ _wellbeing and safety_ at heart_…_

_Walter B. Wilson, 1st Elected Overseer, a US Army veteran, who shared the secret of his existence straight from the files with the vault’s population after toppling the Vault-Tec officials in 2085…_

_Norman Jay Clark, 2nd Elected Overseer, once a security officer who refused to abandon him with the Vault when a critical infrastructure failure was caused by the later-executed remnants of Vault-Tec; he instead left the Vault by himself to find components through a late-stage nuclear winter in 2105 and returned successful, which prompted his landslide election victory right after… The only descendant to be allowed back in after leaving…_

_Randall Miller, 9th Elected Overseer, who organized the then-feeble Vault Security against a homegrown terrorist group that wanted to break into the Chamber to force the people to abandon the Vault by killing him in 2141… Essentially a civil war that lasted a whole year…_

_And Rebecca Winters, 19th Elected Overseer, who cleared the Vault’s government of corruption and a partisan problem, then fostering post-election harmony between the factions in 2201, a cultural milestone that is still strong to this day…_

_And now here they are… _

2277…

…The leaders who did the most for _his_ continuous wellbeing were the most well regarded by their recorded history…

It wasn’t _necessarily_ for the Vault itself…

It wasn’t _really_ for the old nation known as the United States…

It was for…** him…**

It’s such an odd feeling it gave him, and such a warm and uncomfortable sense of _doubt._

Alfred didn’t even know it was possible for him to still be alive and kicking under these circumstances. One would think a lack of _nation, _in the proper sense of the word, would kill the _Nationee…_

_That… love of **country** was at the root of his spirit…_

_But now, that devotion was primarily directed at him, as a person, not so much at the country he identifies himself with, or even entirely at the Vault itself… and he was still very much alive…_

_…For how long, he's unsure…_

Any Nationee would have said that the root – _the nation_ – was fundamentally essential, thus, the denomination.

_A Nationee was derived from the nation-state. Ergo, a Nationee **needs** the nation-state._

A Vault wasn't really a nation-state, not like he's known them to be…

But it’s not like it was ever fully tested… No Nationee wanted to experiment with their lives on that level.

Well… The whole denomination was either imprecise, or he’s really on a downward spiral and wouldn’t last… _Was he so eager to find out…? Should he say anything…?_

Maybe he needed to find some reassurance before letting his boss know. The people here were twitchy when it came to his wellbeing and he didn't want to deal with that soul-crushing anxiety again…

He needed the _numbers_ to reassure him.

That meant he had some work to do, first of all. And so he smiled, tossed the ball behind and clapped lightly as he stood– _still a bit strained, but he’s getting there– _“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then!” Snyder twitched at the sight and Alfred dragged him out of the room. “Good luck! I’ll talk to you _tomorrow.”_

“Eh?”

Alfred grinned. “Also, I _do_ need food, so could you get me something tasty and something sugary in the morning? Thanks.” And he closed the door, not bothering to explain.

He rummaged in the storage room for what he was looking for, and then the drawer where he tucked away the _trinket_ Vault-Tec took from him.

The small, battery-container made from his natural energy, used in the suit made to force him into submission. It was small, cylindrical, and softly glowing a sky-blue.

In his other hand, the Pip-Boy he’d found earlier.

_Right, he had some work to do. Enough idleness… Time to indulge in some tinkering._

* * *

**XVI**

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The air was arid and dry. Uncomfortably hot. That’s the first thing Daniel learned. His water would be gone after the first few hours at this rate…

_He would be told, rather dryly and/or mockingly by the first outsiders he met, to get used to having less of it if he wanted to spend fewer 'caps'._

On top of that, everything was _bright. _The sky had a dull greenish aspect to it, undeterred by the blinding spot of light that was the _Sun. _Despite the goggles, he could barely stand to look at it for more than a few seconds, it warmed his skin in an irritating manner and made him uneasy.

_It was nothing like the rich and clear blue from pictures. It didn't feel physically satisfying, it almost burned his exposed face. It made him want to dart into a hole for shade._

Written in his report so far, his time outside was unpleasant, and he hasn’t even gone too far from the Vault yet. But he’s on a mission, and so, he’d focus on recording his thoughts, transcribed into the Pip-Boy as written reports.

Other than the broken door, there weren’t any other obvious signs of tampering with their home… No one has quite bothered with the skeletons, who served as enough _warning_ to those thinking they could spend their time trying to break in.

What mattered more than the old city in the distance is what was immediately in his sights past the hilltop. A road of dark, cracked and worn pavement followed ahead towards what seemed to be a settlement? The buildings were dirty and smudged, decayed concrete, but he could see movement before going there. There were people and animals, it seems.

He couldn’t hear or see much before he walked down the stairs and approached. The other end of the road led to a somewhat shoddy wall of scrap and debris and concrete, and he could see a water tower within the perimeter of this encirclement. Said perimeter seemed to marginally include the entrance to the Vault, almost on its outskirts…

The rock formation around the Vault's entrance served as just another section of the wall that protected this whole area.

_Further off the water-tower, there was a ragged metal construction of sorts, like another walled spot within this settlement, and he couldn’t see what was inside._

The people he saw looked normal, no extra limbs or anything, although they were pretty rugged, dirty, and wearing hardly washed assortments of clothes, put together to form something protective with some leather thrown in for good measure.

Although that’s not even the half of what’s worth mentioning in this one instance.

What’s worth mentioning is the mutated aberration the locals used as pack-mules. Seems to have mutated from common cattle, as it’s similar enough to what he’s seen in books and movies, but it looks sickly and bloated, and also has _two heads…_

He’s read that cattle-meat diet used to be pretty common, and he’s always wondered what such a thing must have tasted like… He couldn’t imagine ever tasting _these_ things, though…

He tried to not grimace, but he thought all of this out loud, and the locals either scoffed or scorned at that. _“Vaulties are always so damn picky with their food. They either learn to eat dirt or die,”_ they say. Not very reassuring, and he was dismissed just that quickly as they moved on…

_‘Vaulties’?_

He had approached them to ask his questions. To ask if they’d seen another vault citizen who left recently, and he asked about this place. He doesn’t find many patient people in this area, they say they’re just traders stopping by, and that maybe he should ask the _actual locals_ instead.

So there’s a small trade-hub right at the foot of their Vault now…

It has a dozen people or so, with their pack animals, bargaining and chatting with each other, resting after what might have been a long journey.

They use _bottle caps_ as currency. Maybe because paper was too flimsy and difficult to produce to keep as currency? Were they inclined to look for something sturdier, easier enough to have in large enough quantities? Or was it just a quirk of this area?

Maybe because they didn’t have the resources to mint their own coins, and because there was no centralized force to make sure they’d all work without a vast array of different types?

Maybe.

So he finds that some of these buildings are shops of sorts, one has some beds for rental and a pen to essentially park their pack-animals, and the owners are the locals. The buildings are old and simple, grey, and not very big. They remind him of what he’s seen in pictures of basic military posts… The signs are only made of wood and paint.

One local greets him amicably enough. His name is Andy Stahl and he runs a restaurant for the traders here. Andy doesn’t recall seeing another Vault citizen passing by, but he’s heard about it from his sister apparently. She works the night-shift.

Makes sense, Dad left around 10 o’clock…

“Oh, also, do you have any know-how with kitchen appliances?” Andy asked him with a drawled tone before he could leave.

“No, sorry, that’s not my area of expertise. I mostly worked with guns and terminals.”

“Man, we never get lucky with vaulties… Go find Moira, then. Maybe she’ll have something for you to do.” He shrugged.

Andy seemed to be under the impression that Daniel was looking to stay and work. He tells him politely that since he’s searching for someone, he couldn’t stay for long.

Andy just smiled at him. “Yeah, but the vaulties from 101 are educated folks, and usually have some pretty useful skills. If we’re helping you, it’s only fair you help in return. _Right?”_

That ‘right?’ comes off as an implied ‘agree or else’.

Oh… So _that’s_ how it is.

“Right… Okay… I’ll– I’ll do that…” Daniel agreed so he could leave without a gunshot. He doesn’t know if he’d get shot, but then he remembers that these people aren’t fellow citizens and it’s possible some local lunatic would shoot him for such a slight…

He’s told to go towards the ‘Atom Shrine’ to find the sheriff too. There, he’ll get directions to the farms, and he’ll probably find ‘Sheriff Simms’ there. _“That’s the guy with the hat. You’ll know when you see him,”_ Andy told him at last. Maybe he’d get better answers from the local authority, then…

Maybe he’d know if his ‘help’ was actually _mandatory…_

The big dome-like spot he saw before was the 'shrine'… Just follow the road. It’s impossible to miss.

It’s bigger when he approached it, seemed like it was made from the pieces of an airplane. There are shanty-like homes built all around it, with pipes sticking out precariously everywhere, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed near this shrine of theirs, and there’s someone with what looks like a scoped hunting rifle perched at the top, looking at him, so he steers clear. For all he knows, it was forbidden to outsiders.

_Or it was like the Chamber back home…_

The sheriff is indeed ‘the guy with the hat’. He has a banged-up but functional Mr. Gutsy trailing after him. The ‘farms’ he’s seemingly overseeing and guarding don’t look bountiful and green like in pictures. They’re rather meager and pathetic-looking, with a bigger pen with some deformed cattle hanging around… Most of the local diet must come from that and trade, with only a small part of the crops, as a certain amount of it seemed to feed the cattle as well.

The shanty-houses seemed to be the size of a normal apartment back home, sometimes even smaller, all stacked like deformed jigsaw constructions, with dubious-looking bridges and stairs everywhere, nothing very sturdy-looking, with lots of rusty and jagged metal edges.

Children probably scrapped themselves on those all the time…

Beyond all of that, he could see some sort of barred-gate in the wall that delimited this place. The wall was a bit sturdier here, and it had two armed guards watching it, with a big sign that said _‘Follow the path – Mines off-road’_ in bold, clear letters.

Unfortunately, however, the sheriff dismissed his questions, saying he doesn’t pay attention to everyone who passes by. Vault-dwellers are directed to be helpful in exchange for local hospitality and some money, and the sheriff is just there to make _sure_ they do their due diligence and don’t cause trouble.

“You treat my people nicely, make yourself useful, and we’ll get along just fine.” He said.

Daniel already knows Dad must have gone through here. Maybe he spent between a few hours to a day helping out the locals, then. So he might not be too far ahead of him… He could catch up, if he was quick enough…

He's already on the backfoot with these people, though…

Did they subtly _demand_ cooperation from every Vault citizen who left? What would they do if he refused? He didn’t actually feel the need to test it out, helping a little wasn’t that much abuse or forced labor, since they were actually offering some _money_ in return. But the ‘or else’ was loud and clear in-between the lines…

Dad never mentioned that their home was pretty much _surrounded…_

Daniel absolutely had to report this when he returned home again…

And it’s embarrassing that the Sheriff notices his distaste for what they’re doing, and the man does look mildly apologetic, but that’s gone pretty quickly. “Things are harsh out here. 101 vaulties usually have some useful know-how, so, sorry to say, but relying on people’s charity and kindness is a foolish thing. Ain’t nothing to be resentful about here.”

_Right…_

So for now, Daniel focuses on finding work and pay his way out safely, asking the locals a few questions along the way – _where to find this Moira-person, and if they know how long Dad stuck around this place._

Through that endeavor, he got himself stuck in a weird conversation instead… An old man by the name of Nathan, with graying hair and an airy gleam to his eyes.

The moment Daniel asked for work, things went _straight_ to–

“Wanna make yourself useful, new blood?” He said with a happy grin, sounding like a friendly grandpa from the Vault. “I say to toss your gun in for the Enclave! Ever heard? The last remnant of the good ol’ USA!”

_What…?_

“…The Enclave…?” ‘Last remnant’…?

“Yep! They’re the American government! The Eagle!”

What in the _fuck._

Daniel only listened, wide-eyed and unbelieving. The _government…_ They were still around? But no one ever contacted the Vault again…

Not a peep, not a sound. But if the government was still out there, somewhere…

It’s like Vault 101 was abandoned… Left alone and forgotten despite the importance of _who_ they were protecting…

The citizens of the Vault learn at a young age that Vault-Tec was a _traitorous faction, _and that the government was largely unaware of its real nature.

Their memory was culturally maligned, but the government itself from that same time was largely seen as too preoccupied with the war and the resource crisis and building their Vault to keep the Soul of their nation safe, and also possibly led astray by malicious elements within its ranks, exacerbating existing problems, and blinding them to the incoming Chinese threat…

_The **traitors** were to blame for everything, they learned._

“They’ve got flying robots all around, watching everything so they know what to do when they finally swoop in and clean this place up! And then, this _nightmare_ will finally be over! Isn’t that a good cause to fight for?” The old man beams at the hopeful thought.

And now they got tech and were _watching…?_

_They **are** out there, then. So they abandoned the Soul, after leaving him to be a slave to Vault-Tec, is that really possible? Is it the original last government? Or just the traitor faction of it? Did they escape after all?_

Daniel crossed his arms, trying not to scowl. “What makes you think they’re legitimate?” He wonders with a challenging tone.

Nathan gasps, aghast with his suggestion. “How can you _say_ that?! They’re on the radio, have been for years! President Eden tells us everything they’re doing!”

_Radio…? President Eden…? _Daniel glanced at his Pip-Boy._ He’d have to check the frequency later…_

“They could just be lying.” Daniel feels a bit terrible because the poor old man sputters with astonishment and he was taught to respect his elders… But he continues anyway. “Or maybe they are ‘remnants’ as you say, but why do you think they’re good people? If they’re alive, it means they hid away as the country burned. They abandoned the country and are now pretending they have any right to it?” He leans close, not wanting to shout, but still feeling defensive, if not somewhat offended.

“Y-You’re one to talk! Aren’t you from a vault? _Your_ ancestors abandoned the country too!” The man leans close to shout back, sounding terribly offended as well.

Daniel _really_ should stop. The insult technically didn’t apply to him, but… he did feel insulted _for_ the people of the Vault. “Yeah? We’re not the ones who stabbed this country’s Soul in the back and then left it all to _burn! This 'Enclave' did!”_

“Oh, now you’re just trying to confuse me with your fancy revisionist vault-education! You all are the _same!”_

“Whaaat?!”

It doesn’t turn into a louder argument, but only because of who seems to be the man’s _wife_ interrupting and then promptly dragging him away by the ear. _“You’ve had this argument with the vaulties from 101 countless times! Why do you keep forgetting it?!” _She nags angrily on the way. _“You should know they don’t like to hear about that blasted Enclave!”_

…As frustrating as the short conversation was, it did give him an important piece of intel…

A traitorous piece of the last government was still around, and they were called the_ Enclave, _and they had a new _President._

_Daniel made sure to record it all and write a reminder to check that radio station later…_

After all of this, his only lead left to check, for now, is to talk to the pub owner, from the establishment on the other side of the main road, away from the pitiable farms, and right in sight of anyone walking in through the east-side gate. It had plenty of customers inside.

In there, he met the unpleasant owner. Daniel kept the conversation succinct and straight to the point.

The man seems to have met Dad, nearly two decades ago, when he brought Daniel to the Vault… And while he knows where his father went, he refuses to tell Daniel, because ‘information costs money’ and what-not, and he wanted Daniel to _extort_ someone for him…

Or pay 100 in those _bottle caps…_

Flat-broke and still unwilling to do this sort of dirty-work, Daniel opted for something more honest.

_"Heh, you lot think you're so virtuous, eh? Good luck with that out there." _The man mocked with smug derision.

Daniel could work a little extra and try to bargain with these people for a little bit. Maybe he’d spend an additional hour or two or three working, but it would probably be worth the price…

Better than extorting some girl down on her luck for _this_ shady fellow…

Then…

While he paced away, mentally formulating his next course of action, he’s beckoned by a man in a ragged suit that might have been white at some point in time, complete with a fedora in similar condition…

He looked _out of place_ in the furthest corner of the bar…_ eyes hidden behind sunglasses, even though he’s indoors…_

_Unlike him, the guy probably didn't have an excuse for that…_

Daniel squashed his dread and approached, to be polite and see what the man wanted… "Can I help you with something, sir?"

"Hm, polite. I hear the folks from 101 are very civil-minded. The name's Burke, my boy." The man now named _Burke_ offered Daniel a seat in front of him, which he took, a bit hesitantly, still listening. “101 vaulties are intelligent, but painfully naïve people as well. It is terrible how often they fall prey to the likes of Wastelanders like these…” He muttered and gestured around at the locals. “Allow me to hand you this caveat … Many of your fellow vault-dwellers never left this little eyesore of a town.”

Suddenly, Daniel was tense, hyperaware of how many people were inside this building. His previous worries sprang forth, stronger and more real. _Was it actually true…? Did these people ever kill citizens who refused to ‘pay the toll’? But Dad went through here… He occasionally mentioned the dangers of the ‘Wasteland’, but he never mentioned this place…_

_Well, there’s a lot that he didn’t mention… _

Daniel doesn’t want to take the word of a random stranger, though… These locals need whatever talent he can offer, and maybe they were desperate enough to be forceful, but…

_Resorting to murder just like that…? He was already a bit paranoid with the idea, that he could get shot for minor reasons if he crossed the wrong person, but…_

Vault-citizens would generally want to help out, especially if these people are offering a leg-up in the form of money, right…?

_Now that he thought about it, wouldn’t these people hold the citizens in high-regard, then?_

He’s about to politely cut the conversation short, leave it as food-for-thought while he gathers more information from the locals, when–

“Here’s a thought you could consider, however. Your vault will not be safe from these predators surrounding it, not until this place is wiped off the map.”

“W-Wiped off…?!” Daniel couldn’t help but hiss in outrage, itching to stand from his seat– “How many people live here–”

“Many settlements get wiped out in the Wasteland, it’s not uncommon. But you can’t possibly tell me you’re at ease when your home is surrounded by a village built around an undetonated atomic warhead…” The man smirked, as if knowing that his words would make him stagger–

“What…?” His eyes widened in shock._ “A warhead…?!”_

“You didn’t see it…?" Burke sounded rather baffled. "In that so-called ‘shrine’? It formed a crater, and a merry band of cultists has gathered and built around it. They worship the damn thing now. It’s also still active, just so you know.”

An _active_ bomb is sitting right next to them…? He’s momentarily frozen. _Was it true? Why lie about something that could be disproven by simply asking around a bit…?_

“You can go in there and take a look if you wish to see for yourself. Mind the radiation leaking into the very soil, though.” The man chuckled as if this were a joke. Then… “The vault would remain intact, should it go off. But your people would be much safer. Another generation of waiting for the radiation to dissipate, and this whole area would be yours for the taking. Land is a valuable commodity, if you can defend it.”

It’s true, isn’t it? He’s just standing next to it– if it goes off, he’ll be dead– the thing that ruined the homeland, a reminder of it was still sitting next to them… Daniel cursed internally and looked around. “Everyone here knows?”

“Pah! Cultists…! Of course everyone knows, they're all in on it. What decent folk settle around a bomb? These people aren’t of sound mind, my boy, mark my words.” The man sat back, hand swirling the glass of liquor on the table. “With that in mind, how about an offer? My benefactor is very concerned about the local effect of this little spot, and he's willing to pay you handsomely if you can help us with this. It’s much better than what pittance these people would give you for your labor under their gun.”

“I… I have to go.” Daniel stands, a bit shaky on his feet.

_“Well, that's a shame… Pay a visit to the Tenpenny Tower south-west of here, if you ever wish to work for **actual** rewards.”_

Daniel walked back to the _shrine, _stopping at the entrance. The land sank just ahead, and he couldn’t see anything beyond more shanties…

The sniper at the top didn’t stop him from approaching further, and so he walked in, just enough to see what’s at the bottom of the crater.

_And there it was… _At the bottom, the thing of nightmares to the citizens of the Vault.

Just sitting there, undetonated, for 200 years? Would it ever detonate? _Could_ it? There had to be a reason why it didn’t go off…

Daniel gulped and checked the compass on his Pip-Boy. _From its angle, pointed in between south and south-east, he could assume it came from the north-west… _

He narrowed his eyes. _It was Chinese, wasn’t it? Sounds like it could have flown straight past the artic from the other side of the world, if his memory of geographical maps didn’t fail him…_

_Almost on top of their Vault… Almost like it was **aimed** at them…_

From where he stood, he could see the people who surrounded, knelled as if in prayer, with a lone, standing old man in rags – his voice echoing across the area.

_“Behold!” _The old man shouts in adherence, arms strewn towards the weapon– _“He is coming with the clouds! And every eye shall be blind with his glory! And every ear shall be stricken deaf to hear the thunder of his voice!”_

It sounded like cruel mockery… The praise and worship of the destruction of the homeland, as if the thing that did it were some benevolent marvel, instead of an unparalleled and unselective destructive force…

_“Come forth, and drink the waters of the Glow! For this ancient weapon of war is our salvation! It is the very symbol of Atom’s glory! Come, come, let’s drink!”_

It’s sickening… to watch people who’re clearly suffering from the poison, prostrate themselves to cup their hands and drink more.

Daniel takes a step back, trying not to grimace. _Atom? Is that what they’ve named their hellish entity? Unbelievable…_

It has wiped out the rightful homeland of the citizens, it’s only right that they– and Daniel as well– absolutely hated and abhorred this thing, and there’s no doubt they should hate this _Atom_ entity as well.

_“Let it serve as a reminder of the Division that has occurred in the past–!”_

_A reminder! _Just sitting here, in front of their home, mocking them like a prowling tiger, just waiting to finish the job…!

_“There shall be no tears, no sorrow, no suffering–!”_

_As if there weren’t enough already! _What comes to mind, considering this cruelty, is the _absolutely_ _fragile_ _hope _in the Soul’s eyes when asking him to check if there was _anything left _that he could bring back.

Any little _scrap_ left from the past that wasn’t burned to _ashes_ by these things…

_He’s not going to be happy knowing that one of these was still sitting right next to them…_

Daniel turns away with a huff, walking back out of this hole.

_What absolute **bullshit.**_

But such drastic measures were unnecessary, probably… Daniel was _not_ going to take that man on his offer. He'd do _nothing_ until he delivered his report. That thing was sitting there for two centuries, it could handle another few days…

_Overseer Snyder and the Soul would know what to do about it… He's sure this issue could be solved without genociding an entire town in hellfire… Even if these people worshipped the damn thing…_

He’s almost marching on his way out, following through the corridor of shanty-homes around this so-called shrine, ignoring the few people walking back and forth from the farms.

_Should he warn the sheriff about that man, though? What would happen, then? Would he arrest him? Both were armed, was there even a law to be respected here? What if shots were fired? What if an innocent died because of it?_

His mind was busy with so many thoughts, and as he's passing under a pipe, he jumped back with a gasp when something suddenly appeared in front of him.

His brain processed it – a little girl in ragged clothing, barely a year or two older than a toddler– hanging upside down with her legs over a pipe. “Hi!” She chirps with a smile, her dark, short hair hanging.

Daniel gapes for a few seconds before recollecting his wits. “Uh, hey, hi…”

“I’m Meggie!” She swivels on the pipe to sit over it, rather easily too, giving him a quizzical look. “You’re one of those vaulties!”

Did she recognize the suit by now? She seemed too young to know what it meant– she’s just a little bigger than a toddler! _What is she even doing up there, it’s dangerous! _Looking around, no one seemed to pay this scene any mind whatsoever. 

Was this normal? Was it normal for Wasteland children to behave like this…?! _Daniel sure didn't when he was that age!_

“Doing anything good for us yet, vaultie?” She grins when he turns back.

“Huh?!” Just a little kid, but she knew about the fee?!

Her cheeks puff up as she studies him, before she jumps down– and Daniel panics for a split-second, but by the time he raises his arms to catch her, she’s already on the ground, standing as if she’d jumped down a small set of stairs, still watching him as if studying a specimen, and Daniel lets her because _she jumped from such a high place and he’s actually not sure what to do…!_

She hums, bright blue eyes narrowing at him. "There's something… about you… Hmm…"

_“Meggieee!” _Someone shouts somewhere.

She turns and runs in its direction. “Billy! Who’s this one?!”

The man the little girl reached looked at him from where he stood down the road, raising an eyebrow, then he walked in his direction. Daniel waited– it was tense, he sees the eye-patch… _Has this guy been in a scuffle? An accident?_

But the guy was smiling and looked friendly. “Heeey! Look at that. Another vault-dweller! What’s your name and business, stranger?” He offered a hand, which Daniel shook out of politeness.

“Daniel Cross, I’m just passing by. You, sir?”

“Billy Creel. I live here.” He smirks amicably. 

The little girl still stood behind his legs, partially hidden and looking up at Daniel with wide, round blue eyes– those eyes looked… familiar…?

“Welcome to our little town, then. Sorry if the people here made you feel a little cornered. It’s a good little town, and it’s our home, you know? We just don’t want it to die.” The man shrugged.

Daniel eased his expression so it wouldn’t spell out his thoughts– _it will die if you keep that damn bomb in the middle of it– _and he nodded in understanding. “It’s fine… I intended to be helpful anyway. I'm sure I'll need the money to wander out there.”

“That’s right! Life is easier when you got caps on you. Although, a gun sure helps!”

“Is it too bad out there…?”

“Sure! I’m pretty certain there’s a nest of raiders a few stone-throws away from the Springvale Gate. So when you walk outta here, keep your gun ready and your caps hidden, gotcha?”

“Oh, gotcha! Thanks for the advice.” He meant it, too. Being murdered by _raiders _on the way out sounded terrible…

“You’re welcome, vaultie. I’ll let you get back to whatever you’re doing then. C’mon, kiddo.” Billy waves and leads Meggie away, and Daniel looks at her on the way.

Her stare is uncomfortably intense, and he does feel like those eyes look… so familiar– _an image of the Soul’s impossibly bright blue eyes comes to mind– _he gapes, realizing what he’s seeing– _same eyes, same general facial structure–_ then forces his mouth closed.

Aaah… So that’s what it was… _Just like the Soul… What._

* * *

**XVII**

“Hmm, this is _so_ good~” Alfred slurped the noodles happily with a fork, not caring for the noise. “Don’t even mind the lack of meat; just– _actual_ food, man~”

And the Nuka-Cola, too…! He missed the taste so much. It had so much sugar, it energized him better than _coffee._

“After 200 years, I guess you were famished…” His boss muttered rather fondly from his desk. _He was still steaming with some embarrassment, ever since Alfred told him he actually did require food and water to maintain his good health._

_Alfred **could** live without it… But he wouldn’t be at his best. Not even close… He’d be essentially running on fumes there._

_If he hadn’t said anything, it’s possible the man would have assumed otherwise. As if Alfred were some kind of perfect god with no weaknesses or human cravings…_

_Rather off-putting…_

“Didn’t notice that.” Alfred shrugged. _Asleep the whole time, that didn’t register. _“Just– During Anchorage–” He spoke in between gulps. “Nothing but MREs, for months!” Food shortage and rationing… and all of that…

The reminder dimmed his mood, so he focused on eating.

Too bad there’s no cattle meat, though… _What he wouldn’t do for a grilled steak or a hamburger right now…_

“What is this made out of again?” He wonders.

“Dough from all the grains we produce. We try to keep it as caloric and nutritious as possible.”

“No animals to raise, huh?”

“Ah, that… Vault-Tec thought the risk of long-term mutation creating new diseases was too great to allow animals inside.”

“Hmm.” Alfred nodded, almost finished. _Vault-Tec wasn’t taking any risks with their pet-project, huh? _“Too bad… Meat’s really good.”

“…I wouldn’t know…”

Yeah, no one would in this Vault… He sighs, muttering. “Fantastic… The descendants of my people are basically involuntary _vegetarians_ now…”

“…I’m sorry about that…”

“Not your fault…” Alfred amends, just to stifle the wave of shame from his accidental chastising. He didn't mean it, _but…_

_Vegetarianism was a Commie idea made to cover the fact that they didn’t have enough food to feed their own people… _

_He still remembers Wang screeching at the end of the table – ‘They don’t need their own weight in meat to be satisfied! Unlike YOUR piggish humans!’_

_Bah! Asshole…_

_Still, the irony doesn’t escape Alfred and he hated it with abashed disdain, somewhat glad that Wang was too **dead** to laugh at him._

_Well._

It’s been two days since their scout left the Vault now.

Alfred had spent the first day and night and day wasting time, and then the next whole night awake, testing a very straightforward limit of his body: how long he could handle being awake.

At his peak, he could manage three weeks, before mental exhaustion started to slow him down. If he kept pushing to his absolute limit, he could pull off a whole month before falling asleep whenever he happened to close his eyes for a bit.

So far, he managed 20 hours with only a minor headache and a few yawns here and there. Not much better than a human…

While that test went on in the background, he continued to tinker with the Pip-Boy to make it functional for him, opening it up and adjusting things, and then linking it to the terminal to modify the parameters properly.

He was done with that in 3 hours.

Once it was ready, he still needed some food before letting it measure his health, so his first scan would be a baseline that would include his most _basic_ parameters, and not just his body running on natural energy.

Unfortunately, the kitchenette was deprived of food at that moment, and so, he had to wait until morning.

For the next 5 hours, he began familiarizing himself with the culture of his _new home_ instead…

He had spent the entire time so far mostly on music and reading from the public network, and eventually, he moved on to the books he could find in the room.

Part of him was already familiar with all of this, somewhere in his subconscious, so it wasn’t hard to get used to it, despite some of its differences compared to his original culture…

…That was comforting.

He had thought that a 200-years gap would’ve placed him in an irreconcilable state with a near-foreign culture, but…

It wasn’t so different from what was _his. _

His original culture was clearly at the root of everything new in the Vault.

It all turned out to fit well with his tastes and temper – mostly fondness for the lost past in the literature, with thoughts and ideas and archetypes that flattered him and adhered to his moral sensibilities; and also with the new stylistic branches of music that the youth enjoyed, arisen from some permutation and reimagining of his old style…

_Everything’s like a fond pat on his back, not quite forgetting the past, but certainly looking beyond it and pulling him along for the ride…_

Young people trying new things without straying too far from their roots. Alfred appreciated that considerate kindness…

_The music here was good for dancing, he liked these styles a lot… _

_One is dramatic. Strident. Sometimes a little harsh and odd. Aah, different but groovy, yeah, that’s a good way to put it._

_The other is wilder, older, rich and distinct, sometimes even romantic and passionate… _

It wasn’t hard for him to appreciate them, which surprised his boss in the morning, when Alfred still had the radio on and was reading a novel he picked at random.

Clearly, he expected Alfred to adhere to the old culture rigidly… Snyder himself was a bit of a cultural puritan on that aspect.

But Alfred wasn’t feeling so inflexible these days… He liked it.

…There are no Commies here, nothing to worry about with the _new_ now… _That’s one less source of stress on his shoulders, at the very least…_

He could also extrapolate and assume that the same process applied to movies and any visual arts they wanted to produce. Same process, of reverent branches splintering from his original culture at the root…

He couldn’t bring himself to feel any real bitterness, even if the _reason_ for the splinter hurt.

There was no _disdain _or _negative scrutinity._

_After what felt like years of criticism, pessimism, hopelessness, disappointment, disdain, and finally renouncement of everything rooted in his spirit as the riots escalated, citizens giving up on him, while his government trudged in corruption, self-interest, and blatant disregard and disrespect of his wishes or the rights his citizens were **supposed** to have…_

_The cheery propaganda was his only distraction then, encouraging him to stand tall and proud, even when it felt like everything was falling apart around him. It was his only recourse… _

_Of course, in his heart, he knew that's all there was to it. It was the only shred of happiness his people could show the world, their last attempt to say they weren't broken **yet… **even when war and death destroyed the world around them._

_But this here was… it wasn't like that. It didn't feel like escapism._

_This was a sweet, loving, and welcome change of pace…_

_…It felt nice to not be **hated** by most of his own people for once…_

_Alfred felt it, deep in his essence, what his people had in their hearts, simmering beneath the surface… Just waiting to explode… It was there, even for those who weren't aware of it yet…_

_He was letting them down in the end._

…He didn’t feel _worthy_ of this much devotion and reverence now… Especially when he hasn't done much so far…

He's only waited, anxiously dreading the thought of meeting these people…

It didn't feel right to accept the affection. Not when Alfred's first defensive actions were meant to protect _his citizens, _while he was still unaware of _who exactly_ he was protecting…

In his mind, he got it wrong, and now there was still hesitation…

These people, they weren't… they weren't _his_ like the _American people…_ _They were just the **'****descendants'…**_

It didn't feel right to hear all this devotion and reverence directed at him when he couldn't even reciprocate it…

He couldn't be bitter, he couldn't hate them… But _love_ them like he loved _his Americans?_

_And he **did** love his Americans… Of **course** he did… Even when he hurt them, he was still… **still** trying to protect their future…_

“Feeling a little better now?” Snyder wonders quietly, concerned – most likely due to his pensive silence.

Alfred sighs, his bowl empty. “Yep… Feeling a little more _alive…”_ With a little more energy to spare…

He stands and takes it back to his room, leaving it in the sink to wash later.

Finally, he could have some decent base numbers to check. Fed and with a whole day on the clock, this is generally how he _is_ all the time.

Heh. He never needed to check or even keep an eye on such numbers before, Alfred muses while strapping the Pip-Boy to his wrist and waiting for it to boot up, sitting down too.

It’ll take a little longer than the usual for humans…

There's just a lot of information to process from him.

_Concern nibbles the corner of his mind, and Alfred shrugs it off._

“A Pip-Boy?” His boss wonders, carrying a few boxes of food and placing it all inside the fridge.

“I wanted to check some stuff…”

“…And all these tools?” Task done, the man approaches, gesturing to the desk and the mess scattered around the terminal.

“Normal models don’t work well with me. It needed some adjustments beforehand.”

When it finally loads properly, the faint blue glow is visible through the screen. The energy chip Vault-Tec took from him serving as an appropriate battery, not letting it overload with the excess of data.

_His current condition seemed stable, no adverse effects impacting him negatively… _

A bunch of things were still loading, scrambling back and forth, slowly stabilizing as well.

Normal models would have fried by now.

When Alfred looks up, eyebrow raised at the sight, he sees his Snyder’s rather baffled look. “You… you _know_ how to program these things? Without _breaking_ it?”

The awe was _bittersweet_ to savor. Alfred sits cross-legged on the chair, intertwined fingers under his chin as he grins rather sardonically. “You tried messing with them, didn’t you? You didn’t understand how it works, I'm guessing."

How many did they break while trying to figure it out? Heh.

“W-We stopped trying ages ago…!” Snyder exclaimed in astonishment. “Oh… Of _course_ you know how they work…” He laughed awkwardly. “I suppose it’s expected.”

Alfred couldn’t help but snicker. “Want in on a state-secret?” He smirked, piquing Snyder’s interest. “Every unit produced in the US has a small component made with my life-energy, from where it draws certain functions. You have to know how it works to manage its proprieties, and I could count on one hand how many people had the know-how, including me.” He tapped the screen.

“Really…?” Snyder breathed with a small smile, looking at his own device. “So we had a piece of you with us this whole time? Amazing…”

“Yeah…” Alfred rested his cheek on his knuckle, unwittingly reciprocating the fondness – _damn his nature, making him get attached already… _“It’s this energy that lets me do certain things, although most of it I do unconsciously, like knowing a citizen’s general strengths and weaknesses, what’s affecting them physically, what skills they can offer, how their health is doing, the general condition of their body, how old and experienced they are, that sort of thing…"

It affected the gut-feeling he got when meeting his own people.

Which is why he could generally judge whether a citizen was lying, or how loyal, useful, dependable, fragile, or hurt a citizen actually was…

It tended to affect his judgment and decision-making when it came to how he interacted with each one.

“Oh… So these capabilities were transferred to the machine, and then, it was codified a way to quantify it into numbers?”

“Yep, pretty much. The capacity to read these sorts of information is innate to this kind of energy, so it works on pretty much anyone, as long as the coding is there.” _Alfred is satisfied that he didn’t have to explain that concept so thoroughly; the man understood it well enough, which meant he was educated enough… _“Same goes for the atomizing capability, too.”

“Eh? You can do that?” Snyder tilted his head, maybe confused at how _that’d_ work.

“For me, it’s not for storage.” Alfred scoffed a quiet laugh. “It was something neat I could do.” He smirked fondly at the thought. “I could essentially atomize _myself,_ and move from Point A to Point B in an instant, as long as it was all within my territory.”

“Teleportation?!”

Alfred nodded with a small smile. “It’s the same concept, really. Except instead of staying atomized and stored, I’d just reform somewhere else.” He shrugged.

Snyder looked at him, wide-eyed. “C-Can you still do that?”

“Well…” Alfred nudged his chin, and glanced at the Pip-Boy. The numbers attempting to calculate his energy reserves were still scrambled… That’d take a while to stabilize. “I’m not sure. At my peak, I could go from coast to coast about 10 consecutive times before I passed out. It's a pretty costly ability.”

That was actually long before Anchorage… Years before… _When he was still butting heads with everyone during Meetings…_

After falling to exhaustion, though, he’d need to sleep and eat a lot to regenerate the energy spent…

He could still just _wait._

_It regenerated on its own naturally, if he was truly healthy. _

_If the conditions weren't great, if he was away from home for too long and his energy wasn't regenerating, his physical regeneration, 'healing', would be the first to cease its function. _

That said… “Right, I still need to check this…” He mutters, standing up.

“Wow… That’s amazing…” His boss was a bit too awed, mostly in his own thoughts at the revelations. “It’s amazing! We ought to share this as soon as possible…!” Snyder stands after him, arms spread. “What do you say, Soul? Are you well enough to finally meet the people here? I know everyone will be just as astounded!”

_Of course, his boss wanted to alleviate the political pressure…_

Alfred wanders to the tiny kitchenette corner opposite to him – he stops for a moment, mulling over the thought–_ the possibility– the whole scenario in his head._

The whole image looks _wrong_ in his mind… He can’t do this _yet… _

_He’s still **missing** something…_

_He’s not **worth** their expectations and adoration…_

_He's read the messages, he's heard their songs, he knows what they're expecting… _

_He's **not** it…_

Alfred shakes his head. “Not yet…” He’s then rifling through drawers until he finds an appropriate kitchen knife, and–

Snyder gasps and holds his wrist, pulling the blade away from his hand. “What in the blazes are you doing?!”

Alfred blinks. “I want to check something.”

“Wha– Why?!” _Monumental befuddlement– sorrow– fear– _He looks at the knife, and then back at him.

“Look.” Alfred relaxes. “As far as ‘my kind’ is– _was_ concerned, we’re tied to a nation, a _territory,_ with borders and laws above all else. A Vault is… _not_ _exactly_ that…? Not in the way I’m used to.” He drawls. “This is one last thing I need to check to know if there’s something particularly _wrong_ with me due to that. For all I know, I could be slowly dying right now.”

_Like any human…_

_The natural energy itself has always been a bit of a mystery… No one’s exactly sure where it comes from, or how Nationees generate it…_

** If **they even generated it…

_Because, despite the clearly present culture, there were still several unspecified factors he’d thought critical for his kind… and he didn't want to wait to find out._

_If his energy wasn’t regenerating–_

_If it wasn’t **healing** him–_

_Call him crazy, but he wasn’t so sure a metal box was a suitable replacement for land. _

_Land was a safe, stable bet. Metal wasn't. He wanted to be sure._

Snyder seems to panic internally in front of him. “No–no– no. You’re _not_ dying–”

“You don’t know that.” Alfred shrugs and tosses the knife to the other hand with a smirk, cutting his palm before Snyder could do anything.

“Oh, no!” He ignores the immediate pang of panic from his boss who snatches the knife off his hand and runs to the bathroom.

“Ouch…” Alfred says dully, watching the blood scurry, then blinks and opens a cupboard–

_“DON’T GET ANOTHER–!” _Came the panicked shout from the bathroom.

“I’m not! Calm down, jeez…” With his uninjured hand, Alfred finds a small glass cup and letting the blood drip there instead.

It’s bright red… That’s good… His shoulders dip with some relief. So he had _some_ of his strength, and his blood looked healthy…

Now he just had to wait to check the last thing. He tilted his head to see the Pip-Boy's screen so he wouldn't tilt the cup. 

_Laceration damage… Bleeding…_

Snyder runs back with a towel and a first-aid kit, but Alfred turns away from him. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Huh?! Y-You’re bleeding! People will have my _head_ on a platter if they find out you got hurt under my watch! It’s not even been a _week!_ Now, _please–”_

“You know, when I’m healthy, my blood doesn’t really oxidize. It stays red, and that’s a very good sign. I just want to take a look.” He smiles knowingly.

Snyder stops, then huffs. “You’re _still_ injured. You didn’t have to cut yourself with a knife for that…”

“Meh. If everything’s okay, then it’ll heal just fine.”

_“Really… _And if it’s not?”

Alfred shrugs, turning to him once again. “Then my demise is inevitable, I guess…” He stares blankly at his wound while his boss gapes– there’s _worry–fear–outrage _all bundled up.

_“Just– Oh Soul…”_

“Just ‘Alfred’ is fiiine~” He sings in amusement. That concern is nice and warm… and he relaxes further in response…

But still…

If he doesn’t heal up, unless they go out there and do some _conquering…_ his life would be ticking away… Slowly draining his natural reserves, which are already pretty depleted…

He doesn't feel strong enough for quick conquests of land…

_It’s taking an awfully long time to stop bleeding… _

Alfred feels a cold shiver of fear for a moment, before it finally stops dripping, and he sighs quietly in relief, feeling the weight of dread being lifted.

_‘…I’m fine…’_

“It _does_ seem to be healing… Huh.” He mutters. The bleeding stopped for the most part, and he felt the familiar burning and slight amount of steam, along with tightening of flesh as it closed slowly. “What a surprise… I guess I’m fine.” He chuckles.

…He _really_ thought it wasn’t going to heal any time soon…

Glancing at the Pip-Boy, he noted the _Bleeding_ alert was gone, at least.

“Don’t do this again, _please…”_ Snyder groused, already exhausted. “Is it normal to… smoke?”

“It’s steam, actually. Burning water and calories to heal up faster. And yes. Totally normal.” Alfred smiles, almost feeling apologetic, and takes the towel from a relieved Snyder and goes through the usual process of ridding himself of his own blood from a wound.

Since his blood didn’t oxidize or disappear easily, flushing it down the drain in a place like this was a lousy idea…

The filters that cleaned and renewed the water weren’t good enough for it.

So instead, he cleans his hands with paper that he’d burn later, before rinsing with a wet towel. “Now, I just need to wait to see what happens to _that.” _He gestures to the small glass, now almost half-filled with bright, red blood.

A lot of people in the past would have killed for this much… _He wonders how much they sucked out of his body while locking him up in this place… _

_He wonders if they got anything useful out of it…_

Alfred scoffed and wrapped his already healing hand with gauze from the first-aid box.

“Okay, okay… You’re not doing this again, correct?” His boss asked, _exasperated–concerned–_

“Probably not.” Alfred glanced at the Pip-Boy once bandaged, finding everything mostly in order, his numbers stabilizing and rising back up, a bit slowly, though.

He’s healing, and the scrambling is slowing down…

Snyder opens his mouth to complain about not getting a firm answer, before seemingly giving up. “Alright, thank you, Soul…” He sits heavily by the desk.

Alfred grimaces with a sigh, placing a saucer to cover the glass’ top and carrying it to the nightstand.

_It’s still awkward to be referred to as something supposedly intrinsic to humans…_

“Now… About what I was saying…”

Alfred sat on the bed, crossing his arms. “Still not eager to go there.”

“You can’t _hide_ in here forever…”

Alfred narrows his eyes at his choice of words, crossing his legs as well. “You’re probably thinking ‘this is the soul of the most powerful nation ever to exist and he’s cowering in a room? Gee, what a let-down.’” He can’t help but grin cynically.

Snyder frowned, mouth forming an ‘o’ in confusion. “No, I’m _not.”_

“That’s okay… Now you’re wondering ‘how _can’t_ he tell what I’m really thinking?’” Alfred tilted his head, raising an eyebrow and chuckling.

His mirth infects his boss, and he lets out a breathy laugh. “Yes, I thought _that_ one. You do realize you’re undermining your own point, don’t you, Soul…? Whatever that point is…?”

He can’t help it, he laughs out loud – _God, he feels like he hasn’t laughed like this in a long time… But it’s a sad laugh…_

“My _point_ is that I can’t read minds…! And yet, you people seem to think I can!” He stands and paces past Snyder, gesturing along with his words. “And I _can_ actually be petty…! And bitter! And selfish! I’m not–” He stops, eyes down. “I’m not this _all-knowing,_ _benevolent deity_ you people seem to think I am.” He admits and turned away, head shaking lightly as he fiddles with his pinky distractedly.

He wasn't a saint. He was aware of his own hypocrisies, even if he never noticed this back then.

Hell, he wasn't even morally decent, compared to most people…

_…If only they knew the things he did…_

_It’s not that he’s particularly remorseful… He’s really not…_

_War is war, some unsavory things **need** to be done…_

_But…_

_It sure looks bad to the innocent and idealist eyes of some of these people…_

_They genuinely seem to think neither he nor his old government did any wrong– ever._

_The only **wrong **was from traitors, at the very end…_

“I’ve read the public network messages… I’m just not very _eager_ to crush their expectations… I know how young people are, and I don’t feel like dealing with their disappointment…” He turns back – and he’s _sure_ he must be looking quite pitiful then…

But despite that…

_He’s a tool of war. He’s made to shed blood. He exists to kill and control._

_He’s not really a loving deity. He loved his people because they were his, but he didn't treat them like ‘beloved children’; he’s not a god, much less a forgiving or patient one… _

_The naïve people here expected something else…?_

_He tried to be better, to be **different,** especially in his youth, he really did… but…_

_That failed spectacularly. Time, politics, and war made him bitter and cynical and neurotic. _

_It’s easy to see it now, when there are 200 years between Alfred-Now and Alfred-Then. His nation at the time reflected his spirit like a distorted mirror, just like everyone else. _

_The whole world burning was evidence of that…_

_He felt defeated and pathetic. The expectations were too great for him to meet anyone’s eyes like this…_

“I just can’t talk to people right now… Not until I can actually _meet_ some of these expectations.” Alfred grits his teeth, ruffling his hair, pulling it back from his forehead. “I mean, _look at me!_ I’m a _wreck_ right now! I don’t wanna be _seen_ like this…!” He huffs tiredly, his balance faltering a step before he sits on the counter.

_He’s pathetic and weak. Defeated and humiliated. _

_This is why he lost everything he’s ever held dear…_

_Now he feels like a burden who doesn’t deserve to **be** here…_

_The songs and stories were **too** adoring and optimistic… He doesn’t quite feel deserving or worth their mirth and love, not when he fucked up so badly_…

He sighs while Snyder looks in silence and shock.

“This is embarrassing, right…?” It _is_ embarrassing, and he feels childish, for not being able to _suck it up_ and _deal with it. _

_Go with the flow. Roll with the punches. Count his blessings and be happy with the fact that he’s still fucking **alive!**_

_Yeah, **sure!**_

_Alive by some goddamn miracle, brought about by traitors!_

_In his current state, barely escaping enslavement, locked away, asleep while everything burned, for two centuries, and now here, like this,_ _ like a goddamn waste._

_There was something he still needed to do… He couldn't stand straight and proud until he **proved** this to himself and to anyone who questioned him._

And then, he senses _pity–_ “I-I had no idea… I’m so sorry– I– You don’t have to feel this way, people are really excited and worried, but you’re not a disappointment–”

_Fucking pity. _

Alfred scowls in response, crossing his arms. “Don’t give me pity. It’ll just make everything _infinitely_ worse.” He forces himself to stand straight, only to maintain _some_ sense of dignity.

_The little he had left of it, at least…_

_Pity just offends him at the moment._

_It offends his pride because he should be above pity–_

_Nothing hurts more than being treated like a fragile victim– he hates it…!_

_He’s the Nationee of the US of **fucking** A, goddamn it!_

_Or… 'He was', that is…_

Snyder sighs patiently. “It’s not pity, I’m just trying to make this the least painful for you and I just want to understand how to do so.”

Alfred wonders how long that patience will last if he kept pushing it… “I can’t read minds, but I _can_ tell when you lie.”

“It is _not_ a lie.” _Frustration _seeps through their bond, and it’s better than _goddamn pity._

Finally.

So Alfred relaxes with a huff. “You’d be surprised how easily humans can lie without noticing.”

His boss staggers at the admission, but recovers surprisingly quickly. “Okay… Fine. Then…” He breathes in to think before deciding what to say. “Then _tell_ _me_ how I can help you! In what way it doesn’t feel like pity?” He stands straight, hands on his waist.

The _conviction_ is a little stronger now… Not so hampered by _submissive veneration_ like the feeble, awed leader Alfred had been dealing with until now…

Alfred raises an eyebrow. He’s not quite used to bosses listening…

He’s used to arguing… or more often, more recently for him,_ he’s used to shutting up and following orders because everything’s falling apart and there’s a war too big for his government to waste time with his uncooperative bullshit._

_Do as you’re told and not a fucking peep about it, you hear? _His last boss told him when he deigned to complain once…

So, what is helpful now…?

What will help him feel less useless? _What did he want to do…?_

Alfred only thinks for a second or two before the answer comes to him. “…I want to do something useful.” He nods at his own assessment.

That made sense.

Snyder frowns, _confusion _in the air. “Like…?”

Another second of thought and he points sharply at the door leading to the Office behind. “Those things below the Vault, at the breach. I want to deal with them, _thoroughly.”_ He maintains firm eye-contact.

_He needs to **fight** them, consciously aware of **who** he's protecting and **why.**_

His boss reacts almost predictably at this point, head shaking. “What?! No! Who knows how many of those things are down there! I can’t let you do that! How’s that more preferable to just meeting people?!” He gestures angrily.

Alfred takes on the _concern–fear–anger _ball of anxiety head-on, keeping his wits and not faltering. “If I want to do this meet-and-greet without feeling like hot garbage, then I need to do something _useful _first!” He ignores the hesitant and angry confusion that hits back in response–

“You’re not making sense…! Just– Just think about this for a second, look at what you’re _asking!”_

“I’m asking to do what I was _born_ to do.” Alfred shoots back and raises his voice. “I’m not a _trophy_ that needs to be kept _safe_ in a glass box! If _you_ _people_ aren’t safe and there’s fighting to be done, then goddamn it, I want in! I can’t _stand_ being in my own skin if I can’t do this!”

Alfred hates being _powerless– _

_Helpless! _

He didn’t want _pity –_ he felt pathetic and weak and he needed something to _fix_ that – he couldn’t face anyone who expected _better_ until he was confident that he was _worth_ something better…!

“I-I– I can’t let you do this and get hurt…! This is just not right!” His boss backed away, wide-eyed and fearful– and Alfred understood he’s overwhelming him, but the man needed to understand something– “You’re not a _weapon,_ we don’t want to _use_ you or risk your safety…! We’re not Vault-Tec! H-Haven’t you fought _enough_ in your life–?!”

Alfred scowls and stomps the ground just hard enough to make the entire room vibrate, making Snyder shiver in involuntary fright. “I **am** a weapon of war, whether you like it or not. I will **not** lounge all day and be worshipped like a pathetic king_.”_ He hisses. “I can’t respect myself if I do, and I have no right to live if that’s all I’m good for_. _If I _have_ to, I’d rather leave this Vault, cut all ties, and die in a hole!”

_If he can’t do something useful, then he can’t respect himself._

_If he can’t respect himself, then he’s worth nothing._

_He doesn’t deserve to live if he’s worth nothing._

_Because then his nation, his people, everyone **died for nothing!**_

_Horror _strikes from their link– his boss approaches quickly, hands on his shoulders– “Why would you _say_ that…?! We just want you close to us, safe and happy…! What’s wrong with just living here as a part of our lives?”

It’s… _hurt– hurt _that Alfred would seem so willing to risk what they’ve been doing their best to protect for so long.

_His safety._

But his boss doesn’t understand… Alfred backs away, lightly pulling his hands off. “Bad things happen when I do nothing… I _need_ to do this.”

“…But…” _Conflicting emotions– _“What if you _die…?!” _He’s running out of protests…

Alfred breathes in and backs away further. “I won’t die.” He raises his bandaged hand, removing the gauze and showing it fully healed to him, before closing it into a fist, and savoring that shock and awe that hits back in return. 

_So it's definitive now._

_Everything is in working order._

“My _anchor_ is the people of this Vault now, and as long as you’re all safe and prospering, I’ll heal from anything, no matter how lethal it seems. It’s just in my _nature.”_ He grins, before it turns into a more vulnerable expression and he pleads. “…Just _please_ let me do what I failed to do last time. I want to protect _my citizens.”_

This hurt… but… Once you hit rock-bottom, there's only _up_ to go…

And so… he’s giving them his full _continuity…_

He understands the blossoming and warm wonder and reverence from Snyder. He’s only ever referred to them as _‘you people’, _and _‘the descendants’._

But by voicing his full consent for continuity, he’s taking them fully as _his people, _not as _vault-dwellers _or _descendants of his people,_ but… actual… full-blooded _Americans._

The definitive successors to his nation and inheritors of his spirit, who Alfred would protect to his dying breath. Because he _had_ to.

“W-Wait– You mean that…?” Wide-eyed disbelief, which Alfred responds with affection and acceptance.

Alfred nods, patting his shoulder. “Despite how I’ve been acting, I _am_ actually grateful to everyone in this Vault…” He widens his smile. “I want to meet expectations, from you all, and also my own, you see?” He walks to the dresser, rummaging inside a particular drawer.

“You shouldn’t burden yourself with unrealistic expectations, Soul…” Snyder’s voice came off as a bit wobbly– he was happy, almost bubbly so.

_Full-acceptance must feel nice… Alfred too felt a bit less burdened…_

It was flattering that the man thought Alfred’s approval was so precious…

_How weird… His last few presidents couldn’t give less of a rat’s ass about his approval…_

Quite suddenly, he felt much more earnest and stable on his feet, like his path cleared a little, enough that he could see something to yearn for, something to protect with real zeal.

A wholesome feeling, one that he hasn’t truly felt in a _long time…_

“It’s not a burden…” Alfred rolls his eyes and pulls a vault-suit from the dresser, draping it over his arm and turning to Snyder again. “It’s a _responsibility.” _He pats the suit, then grins lightly. “Believe it or not, I’m a very capable soldier, perfectly capable of dealing with a few giant lizards. I’m not very realistic myself, so I’m _more_ than willing to meet unrealistic expectations now that I know how to go about it, so long as you _let_ me try.”

Finally, Snyder desists, shoulders dropping with a sigh. “Alright, Soul… You trusted me, so… I’ll trust you on this…”

“Thank you.” Alfred relaxes, then tilts his head. “You could also call me by my name, you know…?” He says in jest. Mostly.

“…It feels disrespectful, to be honest.”

“It’s not. It’s just my human name.” Alfred shrugs and turns to the bathroom, to change clothes.

“Human name…?”

“That’s for another time. Just get me some decent, high-caliber handguns and a decent, short blade for me, alright?”

“A-And armor?”

Long-suffering sigh. “If you _have_ to bubble-wrap me, the _lightest_ thing possible, _please._ I don’t like fighting with restrictions on my movements. I do like gloves, though.”

He was more of a dodge-shoot-and-slash kind of guy… But if _that_ didn’t work, he could do with a hand-to-hand brawl any day.

He never liked bleeding or being slowed down, he likes speed and strength, and he’s tailored his style accordingly.

“Aah… Of course…”

With that, he smiles gratefully and closes the door, staring at himself in the mirror, holding this vault-suit – instead of his usual army fatigues…

This is no longer the US government, even if he’s accepted these people are Americans…

…The US Army is gone…

…Now there’s only Vault 101.

Alfred sighs. Alright then… Time to make it _real…_

Changing into these clothes makes him feel so incredibly odd, but he’d get used to it…

And… when he sees himself in the mirror wearing it…

Well, that seals the deal definitely. _This is him now._

He sighs again, this time slower and sadder. Then he shook his head angrily, slapping his cheeks. _No more mopping!_

He’d take the first step to get his shit together for real now.

When he actually did something useful, he’d feel a little less like a waste of space.

_Keep the whole place safe. Keep his people safe. Be dependable, his skill and power had to be absolutely unquestionable. Confidence is key._

Alfred nods at his own resolution, seeing it reflected in the mirror. Then frowns and unties his hair, this time doing so properly and neatly to keep the longest strands out of the way.

_He’d have to cut it later._

As he pulled his fringe back to tie what was too long, he noticed it– _what in the world? _

_Is that…_

He pulled his fringe more thoroughly to see. _A scar…? _His eyes widened and he gaped.

On his forehead, right under the hairline, close to his temple, it had been hidden by the fringe.

“…What the fuck…” Alfred whispers at the deformed _x-shaped _scar, eyes narrowing at the looming sense of dread, before letting his hair down.

_He shouldn’t scar, unless…_

_Unless he’d been too weak, in his very essence as a Nationee, when the injury happened. But that looked like a gunshot wound…_

“…I don’t remember getting shot…?” He whispers to himself, tapping his chin in thought.

Right… He doesn’t actually remember anything specific or accurate about those last few months after Anchorage…

Everything’s a blur… He tried to _focus_ on them. _Flashes spark in his mind, only brief, for a split-second, like a TV’s signal faltering–_

_Arthur leaned on the railing, smoking in silence–_

_Wang with his blade raised–_

_Snowy camps–_

_Fire–_

_Tapping a desk, clutching papers–_

_Mattie’s bitter and frigid glare–_

_His president, wide-eyed, in his office–_

Alfred exhales heavily, clutching his head, leaning on the sink. He shook his head. No. _He doesn't want to think about **them…**_

_He still couldn’t discern what even happened…_

_It’s all too much of a mess…_

A disturbing thought enters his mind. _Someone might have tried to kill him when he was vulnerable…_

_When was he so vulnerable that his grip on immortality was faltering…?_

He could only think of… when the _bombs fell…_ but he wasn’t awake to feel that… Someone could have tried to kill him while he was locked up below, but before he was put underwater, then.

Couldn’t have been any of Vault 101’s citizens– **_his_**_ citizens– _ the Chamber was always locked, for 200 years. _He didn’t feel like Snyder lied, and he spoke as if this were common knowledge…_

_That only left Vault-Tec as a suspect. The only people with access to him at that point. His memories are completely blank there._

Alfred huffs, glaring at the mirror.

Well. He’d be going down there either way. Plenty of time to investigate, especially after he cleared the problem with the breach, so it didn’t matter for now.

He’d find out what happened… **eventually.**

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
.  
.  
I want to make as much progress each chapter as possible, since traffic is slow, I wouldn't want this to be too dragged out between updates, like my other story. Heh.
> 
> I hope this whole reasoning made sense. It's difficult to write what feels like a realistic 400 y.o. character like this (although he's around 600 by now, I don't really count the time spent asleep), and I hope my incorporation of my Hetalia headcanons fit well with the Fallout aspect here.
> 
> I also did some redesigning of Megaton, because why not? I'm sure many might remember the 'What do they eat?' video. I simply added another ring around it, which includes the outer cliff of Vault 101 and Springvale, although it doesn't include the bigger highway bridge. The original crater is a space for the Children of Atom, and shanty-homes were built mostly around it, although there's more to the residents in the area around than what's in the canon-version here. I went ahead and added some extra potential for future conflict right away, because why not?
> 
> Still, thank you for the few comments. I'm just happy anyone's enjoying this weird idea of mine. :3c


	6. To Be Worth Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine sucks.
> 
> But with all this talk of disease and China and quarantine and flu, I guess I was in a Fallout mood suddenly. lol  
.  
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**XVIII**

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.

.

“What…?”

James remained still and refused to wince at the emotions quickly shifting by on Madison Li’s face.

It went from the initial shock of seeing him again, to confusion, before settling on _anger _momentarily. “James–”

The lab is silent at this hour, so early in the morning. Whoever Madison had helping her around here had yet to show up, which is good. He’d hate to have this difficult conversation with an audience…

“I understand this is difficult to hear, Madison.” He tries to appease.

She sighs, some of the anger melting away and leaving mere frustration as she sits by the desk. “After _all_ this time, you just show up again, expecting me to drop everything for this?”

James remains resolute. “I think I can make this work, Madison.”

“James–”

“I think I figure it out.” He says a little more vehemently. “I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t so sure. I–”

“You say that, when _you_ were the first to leave…” Madison, predictably, huffs in anger, turning away from him to massage her temples. “After all this time… James, I… I have other projects now! It’s been 20 years, we’ve moved on!” She turns back with gritted teeth. "Nothing's changed!"

“I can _prove _it, Madison, please…!” He leans closer, pleading.

“I’m not going to drop everything on a fool’s errand, James. If you can _prove _it, fine, but that’ll remain a secondary project.” She taps the table with her finger. “I’m working on something else, and honestly, you’re welcome to join me. But keep my priorities in mind if you want to restart Project Purity again.”

James, although not quite successful with his words, breathed out in relief with a small smile. “I understand, Madison. I _swear_ I’m not quite wasting your time. I’ll prove it to you soon.”

“See that you do, James.” Her shoulders relaxed, expression sagging with exasperation. “You haven’t changed a bit…” She muttered tiredly as she crossed her arms, although he couldn't hear any bitterness, thankfully.

James nodded, grateful, finally letting some of his exhaustion dawn on him. He’s been traveling for a while, and he’ll rent a bed for a few hours before hurrying to the lab.

However, his curiosity be damned already…

“Thank you so much, for giving me another chance, Madison…” He takes an empty chair to sit next to her. “But before I go rest… What’s this new project you mentioned? You seem… very focused on it.”

Madison scoffs, the corner of her lips quirking up. “It’s an interesting project…” She pats her wrist on the table, nodding to herself. “I didn’t necessarily start it. It’s more that I _stumbled_ into it one day…”

"Is that so?"

Just as he says this, the lab’s door opens with a loud, metallic creak.

“And speaking of said project… Try not to _pry_ too much while he’s around.” Madison stands from her seat.

James raises an eyebrow, questioning, then looks at the tiny figure who entered the lab from the door upstairs, lips parting slightly at the sight, rather mystified.

_A toddler?_

He sees a small boy hopping down the stairs with surprising dexterity and approaching Madison, who leaned on her knees to greet him. “Good morning, Riley. Did you sleep better tonight?”

“I guess so. Thanks for asking, Dr. Li.” The toddler mutters, rubbing his midsection. The words are enunciated properly, like someone _used_ to speaking the language, and not like a small child who’s still learning.

The small boy briefly turns to glance at James, eyebrow raising in a typical expression of confusion and suspicion, but a very _atypical_ face for a _toddler._

Madison nods and turns to the box under one of the desks. “No pains?” It turns out to be a sealed, metal box of condensing _ice._

It doesn’t quite look like clean water… James watches, frowning quizzically.

The boy follows her. “Less so than last week.” A messy, shiny and dark blond hair on his head. His eyes are wide and _bright, _greenish-blue. It's a very deep, vivid color. James has never seen such clear contrast with the whites and pupils.

Those eyes turn to him. “Who’s this?” He wonders, his voice a childish high-pitch.

James blinks in bewilderment as the kid kneels and shoves his whole arm in the box, past the elbow, still staring at him.

“Uh… Madison…?” James questions, hesitantly.

Madison gives him a _look_ as she retrieves a box of medical equipment, sifting through it. “Riley, this is James, my… old colleague, the one I mentioned? We used to work together, years before you were born.” She pulls a rubber band and a needle, equipment for blood extraction. “James, this is Riley. My current project, you could say.”

Oh.

The boy doesn’t even flinch, still freezing his arm in that much ice like he couldn't even feel it.

James straightens himself, self-aware of his assumptions. “Nice to meet you, Riley. Uhm… Sorry,” He turns to Madison, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Congratulations…?”

_Is it so odd that Madison would have moved on like this? He shouldn’t have come expecting her not to… He should have expected this, but he hesitates to ask who’s the father…_

_Still. _James didn’t think of Madison as a cruel person, much less a cruel mother who’d experiment on her own child, but…

The child _is _strange… Doesn't look _one bit_ like Madison, too…

Madison laughs lightly. “Riley is not my child, James.” She gives him an amused, knowing look, adjusting the needle she had in her hands.

_Double_ oh_. _

“Sorry?” Both of his brows shoot up.

Said child continues to give him a peculiar look. Of _suspicion, _an expression more appropriate on an adult’s face than on a small child’s, looking even more intense with the eye-color. Madison wraps the rubber band tightly around his tiny arm– it makes James wince.

“Is it cold enough?” She asks.

_Should he say something…? But he doesn’t know what’s happening…_

“I think so.” The boy shrugs. She picks him up and sits him on the table hastily, he extends his arm to Madison without hesitation, as if he’s done this many times before.

“Riley is… a special child, James.” She says, needle piercing skin. The child doesn’t make a sound, only shifts uncomfortably. It’s only a tiny dose of blood she extracts, before quickly retreating. “We’re trying to figure him out.” She turns with the sample to another table and the equipment she had set there.

The kid only rubs his arm, covering the wound as if to keep it from bleeding, but Madison offers no bandaging.

“Special…?” James stands to approach and observe the process, glancing at the boy whose legs are dangling back and forth in restlessness, still occasionally giving mildly mistrustful looks at James. “Is there a reason for… _this?” _He gestures to the icebox.

_Seems like icing someone’s skin would make the nerves more sensitive to pain… and not covering the skin lesion over an open blood vessel wasn’t something Madison ever did– she was never so reckless with such medical procedures, even more so on a child, but there was no panic in either of them. _

_So, why?_

The small bit of blood – _little more than a drop – _is put in a dish under the microscope, and Madison observes it without giving his tone much heed. “His blood burns through the needle very easily. First time I tried this, it broke, and I panicked so much, since I had gotten a piece of _metal_ stuck in his arm… but… his body just _ate_ it.” She chuckled. “We have to lower the temperature a few degrees for extraction; otherwise, it burns everything like some kind of acid…”

James stared, wide-eyed, then turned to the boy.

He grinned with perfectly white teeth– _almost_ menacingly. “Dr. Li said it’s a super genetic mutation!” And he proceeds to jump from the table, reaching the ground with no sign of pain and in full control of his balance, as he quickly trots to stand next to Madison, barely reaching the table. “How is it today?”

Madison hums, writing something down on a pad. “Definitely better than last week. A little redder, more red and white blood cells this time.”

“Any corrosion on the needle or the dish?”

“Negligible damage. Even with the ice, the acidity seems to increase when you’re healthier, though, just as we predicted.”

“Aah… So…”

“…What’s going on…?” James couldn’t help but interrupt. _A mutation…? Acid blood? As if the child wasn’t odd enough already, just by mannerisms and looks._

Madison retreats from the microscope, patting the boy’s head as she turns to James. “Riley has some… psycho-empathetic reactions. When the people around him are stressed and anxious, he tends to get sick very quickly, which happened last week when we had some trouble with the Mirelurks and the food supply. But that got resolved, and now he’s feeling better again. Just like with the other cases before.” She gestures to the blood on the dish. “We’ve been trying to find an exact pattern to it, and what other variables are at play, and how his body reacts to different situations. Trying to understand his biology, and… why he hasn’t quite _aged_ in 10 years.” She glanced at the boy, who tilted his head in equal befuddlement.

“What…?” James stared back and forth between the two. “You mean to say he’s… been like _this,_ for 10 _years?”_

This _toddler_ is 10-years old…?!

“Yes…” Madison bit her lip, then crouched to the kid’s level. “Furthermore, James, take a look.” She lightly pulled the boy’s arm, pointing. James crouched to look as well. “The needle’s mark is gone. His body fixes itself _this _fast. _And_ it’s not just physical damage as well…! Even _radiation_ seems to slowly fade from his body, I reckon it doesn’t even leave a _dent_ on his DNA. The only thing that has caused any kind of lasting negative effect so far has been those psycho-empathetic reactions.”

Indeed, the mark was gone… “Amazing… A physiological reaction to psychological stress in external elements?” James muttered, observing it closely, slowly turning the boy’s arm for any sign of damage. There was absolutely none.

_If this child is 10-years old, then it’s no surprise he can speak and move so well… But how in the world has this come to be?_

_How could rads ‘fade’ on their own? How did his body heal itself? Why was his blood so incredibly acid, and yet, didn’t burn his own muscle tissue? Was everything acid inside him? Or just unbelievably resistant to it? How tough-skinned was this child, then?_

But Riley steps away from him, almost hiding behind Madison, like he didn’t quite trust James touching his arm or being so close.

She stands, letting him hide better behind her labcoat. “Indeed. There’s even more, believe it or not. He hasn’t been _completely_ static this whole time. He’s grown about an inch so far. He _is_ growing, just very, _very _slowly.”

James feels that curiosity burning again, and questions pop up in his head. “What about before, when he was even smaller?” If he’s growing so slowly, then… how long did it take him to reach _this_ point?

Is he actually a decade old? Who birthed him? How did he end up here?

“He doesn’t remember anything from before he showed up at Rivet City. We just found him hiding in a room one day.” Madison said, picking up the child and letting him sit on the table again. “We don’t know who his parents are, or where he came from. No one from Rivet City gave birth to Riley, as far as evidence goes. He just showed up one day, although, back then, he was much more skittish and quieter. He didn't know how to speak or read, didn't even have a name…”

The boy nods along with Madison’s account of the past, gaze wandering as if remembering these things.

“Do people here know about all of this?”

“Rivet City folks know some things. He doesn’t age, they know _that._ Everyone seems generally fine with his presence, though. They’ve gotten used to him, and he has a… _peculiar_ charisma…” She spoke with a level of _fondness_ that James couldn’t quite associate with _Madison Li._

It wasn’t a habit of hers. Displaying such affection towards small children… _Might be why it never occurred to James that she’d ever settle into that sort of life, it didn't seem to fit… Her pursuits have always been centralized around science…_

_And… at its root, it seems they still are._

Well… At least no one reacted violently to a _mutant child _of sorts. He’s small and adorable like _any_ toddler, but James didn’t see much beyond his unusual appearance, since the _rest_ put him so much on edge…

The brightness of his eyes and softness of his hair made him seem _bizarrely_ ethereal, which, coupled with the mannerisms and knowing looks of an _older_ child who’s always _thinking,_ made James slightly uncomfortable…

“So this is the project… What else are you trying to attain from this?” He felt bad for asking. He could be more charitable and assume that Madison has grown attached and simply wanted the kid to be okay…

But…

Madison sighs. The kid merely _listens, _looking back and forth. “We understand that his physiology can cleanse itself of rads fairly quickly, that’s a big deal if we could reverse-engineer the process and apply to other things… However, there’s not enough data to be useful to Project Purity, _before you ask.” _She narrows her eyes at him. “He can heal especially well while under the sun… His cells don’t age like ours. In fact, they don't seem to die at all, they only duplicate to fix something. His blood doesn't even seem to oxydize. And he’s physically sensitive to human emotion, just not his own… I’m trying to understand _how_ and _why. _Maybe something good will come out of it, but for now, I’m just trying to keep him healthy.”

Keeping a child with such an extreme physiological mutation healthy. A daunting task, working with little proven methodology and on completely unknown territory. How truly remarkable and expected for Madison to try anyway…

“And how do _you_ feel about this? Riley?” James frowns, glancing at the kid for any sign of… who knows?

Discomfort? Fear? Children could easily do something they didn’t want to do, just to please a parental-figure. _And Madison sure seemed to fit that role for him…_

But the kid shrugs, crossing his arms. “I want to know how I tick too.” Although he’s so tiny that the look of stubborn defiance seems both unsettling and _comical…_

Madison gives James a demure, but _smug_ look. “Riley is an avid fan of science books. He was eager to help me study how his biology works. I wouldn’t do anything against his will, and…” She glanced at the boy. “Well, even if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to catch him. Kid goes wherever he wants in Rivet City, no one can lock him up anywhere.”

At this point, James wouldn’t be surprised if the kid could expertly pick locks…

“I didn’t mean to make any assumptions, Madison… It’s just…”

Madison dismissed him with a wave. “I understand. Children are usually off-bounds for experimentation. But we’re being humane here, don’t worry. Riley’s a lot tougher than he looks, and everyone in the team likes him.”

The kid beams at the compliment.

“Glad to hear it…” James relaxed visibly. _It’s been 20 years, he didn’t think they’d change enough to do something cruel to a child just to achieve results…_

_It was his fear for a second, but things seem to be okay after all._

“Now, I have more tests to run here. Come talk to me once you’ve rested, I’m sure it’s been difficult to travel all the way here from Megaton.”

James nodded. “I will rest. But I intend to check on the lab right after.”

“The lab?” Madison’s eyes narrow. “It’s overrun by ghouls by now.” Madison says, tone quiet and controlled. “Please tell me you don’t intend to go there alone.”

“I will be fine, don’t worry, Madison.” He reassures her uselessly. “Thanks for telling me about all of this. If… If my current objective doesn’t pan out, I could stay here and help you.”

_It was a decent enough Plan B… In case he ran into yet another dead-end… It was a relief, in a way._

Madison still doesn’t ease her stiff shoulders. “What about that vault of yours? Your kid?”

James scoffs with a small laugh, turning to walk away. “Daniel will be fine. He grew into a fine lad, and he likes it there…” _Maybe a little too much, but James shouldn't complain. _He waves dismissively on the way. “I’m sure the people there are furious enough with me, since I was snooping before I left. They did say they’d _shoot_ me if I ever did that.”

“So, you went and did it…”

“Indeed I did… It’s best if I don’t return. Wish me luck, I’ll be back in a few days.”

“Alone, James?”

“I’ll be fine, Madison, don’t worry. I’ll be right back.” He only hears her huffing in frustration, followed by Riley’s very quiet inquiry–

_"He feels weird…"_

_"…How so…?"_

_"I dunno… It's just… the air around him… or something…"_

Weird? Maybe the kid should be a little more _self-aware…_ But James wouldn't think about this now. _That's for another time…_

He shakes his head as he closes the door behind with a long-suffering sigh, before walking off to find the inn. 

* * *

**XIX**

_“What’s up, Wastelanders?! This is Three-Dooog– And you’re listening to G.N.R! And heeere’s me, with the news~! For those of you not in the know, to the north-west of Megaton, there’s this vault, Vault 101. This one still got people living in it! And every few years or so, someone comes to see the world! Well, wouldn’t you know it, someone’s come out of it again! And! I kid you not! He came to visit yours truly, right here in the studio! Now this cat, James is his name, had been in a hole for years; he needed to know what was what out here in the Capital Wasteland. So I’ve set my brother straight! If you see James out there, you say ‘hello’, be kind to a new brother, and show him that here on the outside, we always fight the Good Fight. Until next time! This is Three-Dog–!”_

.

_“You’re looking for the GNR station? Oh, that’s perfect! The station is in my hometown. Aaand, since you’re already going there, would you mind delivering a letter? I’d really appreciate it…”_

.

Daniel huffed, stopping his trekking for a bit and looking around him, before continuing so he wouldn’t be left behind.

It’s difficult to navigate in a _desert. _

It wasn’t supposed to be so arid, according to the books, but it is now. No green grass, or lush trees. Only dry, crisp grass, and dead trees, along with the dilapidated pavement, light poles with broken wires, the dust, glass, and sand around the rocky formations that littered their path.

He’s happy that he found a group of merchants and mercenaries to follow to his destination. Naturally, they weren’t willing to give him much assistance, much less share their food and water, but that’s fine…

He didn’t ask for such. He just needed guides. He’d follow quietly and not cause trouble. If trouble found them, he’d help, no caps asked.

He glanced at his Pip-Boy – _2 PM now –_ still trying to remain alert to his surroundings, still following after his company, who were quietly muttering about something amongst themselves, the radio carried on a backpack droning even more quietly with music.

He’s left Megaton a day ago. Information paid for, after fixing and cleaning a few cheaply purchased weapons, increasing their value so the nutjob girl at the supply store could make a nice profit reselling them; and also reconfiguring a terminal just because he was there and what's a few extra minutes?

Paid 100 caps in a pouch to the _asshat_ at the bar.

He was left with the other 100.

Better to save it… His resources weren’t strained just yet. He’s fine for now…

Meanwhile, he observes the land and the people.

The path they’re following is worn, lighter due to erosion of shoes and animals. It’s a route followed often by traders.

According to Ms. West, her hometown housed the radio station his dad went to, and from what he’s hearing, it’s a pretty big place, build on and around a collapsed bridge right on top of the great river. At the top, someone built a radio tower, and for a few years now, a guy has been broadcasting thoughts and music to a chunk of the ‘Capital Wasteland’, using scavenged equipment.

Neat.

Daniel gained other important information by simply chatting and listening. He was told that he’d be fine as long as he followed a few informal rules…

Don’t travel alone, especially at night.

Don’t travel too far southwest.

Don’t cross the Potomac River to go north.

And… most importantly…

_Don’t go to Capitol Hill._

Daniel frowns and turns back again, seeing the dark clouds that had been hanging above it, now much, _much_ closer… He could see the Washington Monument through the fog, just barely. 

_“Tch. Another fucking radstorm…” _One of the merchants had hissed upon first seeing it. Headed north, they’d just ascended the hilltop, past the Vault. _“That shit better blow way north.”_

_“It’s hot as fuck. It might come here… We may have to find shelter soon.” _One of the armed guards said, sounding incredibly tired.

_“Aye, aye…” _

It looked ominous much earlier, but now, the deadly fog almost hid the sight of the city, he could see lightning flashing, and it was steadily approaching…

He could almost _hear _the thunder…

_“Does that happen often…?” _Daniel had wondered.

Apparently, it happens quite a lot around the general downtown area of DC. It often blew north, sometimes northwest. But _sometimes,_ unfortunately, the winds brought them west, occasionally along with _rain…_

_Radioactive storms, great._

Their best option is to go underground. If not possible, find shelter and take sips of a shot of RadAway until it’s gone…

Capitol Hill wasn’t an easy place to get to; it wasn’t easy to survive for long there. Generally, _no_ _one_ went directly _through_ the downtown area, which made his mission much harder…

But he’s heard of a town called Rivet City just off the coast, southwest of the Capitol. The storms often went just past them, so it was a great place to stop… Maybe he could find his way into the downtown area from there…

_He'd need better equipment, that's for sure…_

Daniel sighs, turning away from the grim sight, not quite looking forward to it, but still determined.

_It’s always bad news out here, though._

The sorry state of their ancestral home was truly a sad sight… If it wasn't the deadly storms and dangerous animals, then it was just the leftover _infrastructure._ Ruined powerlines and towers. Cracked roads. Scavenged buildings.

Everything's ruined and gone.

“Shit, hang on– Hey,” Someone called. Daniel turns, blinking. One of the mercenaries– rugged face, like he’s never smiled or laughed in his life. “Hey, tag-along. Help us clear the road, will you?” He gestured further ahead of the road.

“Oh, of course!” He runs to catch up, pulling his pistol from its holster.

The road was blocked by a small swarm of _bugs–_ it almost makes Daniel cringe. He holds back, not wanting to be judged as just another ‘squeamish vaultie’.

_Mosquitoes _were supposed to be tiny insects… They sucked your blood, and sometimes, left diseases behind.

_These_ things were pale, limp, and disgustingly huge, with sharp needle-like appendages and long, transparent wings… and they stuck around parasitically over a human corpse that he could barely see properly from this distance.

He stops, shaking his head, and takes aim. _He’s a great shot, this is no problem. _The other two mercenaries take aim with their sidearms, and Daniel shoots first– killing one right away.

“Nice shot, kid…” One of them smirks, taking shots as well as the whole swarm flies around confusedly for a second, before a few dash towards them. _To f__resh blood, that is._

Daniel narrows his eyes, taking a step back to aim high at one, and along with the mercenaries, it’s no challenge to dispatch of the nuisance before they could reach them. _Being stabbed by one of those sharp stingers had to hurt. Thankfully, these things aren't so tough._

The two guards gesture to one another and split up, one goes back to the merchants, while the other gestures to Daniel to follow. He does so, hesitantly. The smell– _shit. _He slows down to cough, covering his face.

They reach the body. It’s even worse up close. Terribly dry and decomposed, with many chunks of flesh and clothing missing… There's dark, dried blood all over the pavement… "Just what happened here?" 

The man curses under his breath, ruffling his hair under the loose helmet. “Fucking _radwolves…_ This is why you don’t travel alone at night. They tear you apart.”

_Packs of mutant wolves roamed more freely at night, looking for prey. Usually anything that was alone…_

There’s no respect for the dead out here… The corpse doesn’t get cremated, or even buried as they used to in the past… It’s only pushed out of the way carelessly.

"Thanks for the smell of rotten flesh, this fuck…" The man sighs in frustration once done, mostly annoyed at the inconvenience, and also noting Daniel's mood, seemingly not feeling any sympathy. He scoffs. "If the radwolves hadn't got 'im, then slavers would have. Idiots traveling alone get what they deserve, vaultie." He walked back to the group.

_Slavers dominated the land across the Potomac, and they often crossed the river to kidnap vulnerable people. _

Like this wasn’t once a human being, whose life ended tragically… Who knows who he left behind, or even if he had anyone to leave behind at all…

There’s no dignity, and nobody seems to care. Daniel stares sadly as he finishes another small report on his Pip-Boy, shoulders sagging in dismay.

"C’mon, we’re almost at our stop.” He hears as the rest of the traveling group approaches, resuming their path.

“On Arefu?” Daniel raises an eyebrow. He figured they still had many more hours to go.

“No. We’re halfway there. We’ll stop at that vault for shelter since the storm will reach us in an hour, so we'll wait it out.”

Daniel’s eyes widened with a gasp. “Vault…?!”

The merchants and their cargo walked past him, frozen as he was. They snicker lightly. “Don’t get your hopes up. We’re not going in.”

They continue, and he gets a hard pat on the shoulder, startling him out of his daze, and he hesitantly follows, holstering his pistol and working to refill his magazine with new bullets. “They don’t let anyone in, then?”

A scoff from the mercenary who walked close to him, the only one who talked to Daniel so far. “Hate to break it to you kid, but most vaults are either empty or full of dead people.”

“What?” _Dead?! _“How do you _know_ that?”

“Rumors. People hear tales from vaults all around. Scavengers who made it out alive… Most are horror stories.”

“But…” He’s done reloading the magazine, and distractedly places it back in its place.

“I’m sure there are a few more like _your_ little home underground. But most are pretty much death traps. We’re not going into 106 because it’s still closed, but no one’s ever heard of anyone leaving it.” The man says with a shrug. “I stop by often enough. Never heard a peep from inside. It’s quiet like a tomb.”

A merchant ahead adjusts his hat. “…Even if it was open, we still wouldn’t go in. We’d probably just die.”

Vault 106…

Daniel gulps, staring back and forth between the two. “That… doesn’t mean everyone in it is _dead…_ Maybe they just don’t go near the door…” He countered with an uncertain shrug, rubbing his arm as he feels an uncomfortable shiver.

“Meh. You’ll see it when we get there. Like… a… tomb…” Dude sounds mildly _amused. _“Sorry, by the way. It’s just how it is.” He adds as an afterthought, not quite apologetic.

Daniel doesn’t respond, only stares ahead, adjusting the straps of his backpack. _This had to be wrong… Just rumors…_

_Because many Americans sought shelter in Vaults, all across the country… There’s no way most of them are dead… _

_The Vaults shouldn’t fail at such an **alarming** rate. But then again… It’s Vault-Tec. They weren’t trustworthy…_

_What if they only built Vault 101 properly…? It's the only one that housed the Soul, so what if they cut corners on all others? What if others had critical failures? Hell, Vault 101 had a critical failure once, long ago, despite the fact that it was top-notch…_

_Sheer misfortune and bad luck._

_But Overseer NJC left the Vault to find a way to fix it, and he was successful. How many others just… didn’t make it? _

_The people out here… They’re descendants too. People back home call those left out of Vaults the **Forsaken Citizens.** These people here are their direct descendants, just like Daniel himself. _ _There were probably people who left their Vaults, and the descendants of those few. Most were probably people who survived the bombs… _

_It's never been considered that people would willingly leave their Vaults in large numbers, because why would they leave?_

_It didn't occur to him before that some shelters simply didn't work and people died, or that people were forced to leave theirs when it failed…_

_Oh, right… It was probably stupid to be optimistic, he's learning that now… _

_It’s **always** bad news out here, after all…_

By the time his mind stops whirling, they reach their shelter from the storm.

The door was… flimsy. _Wooden._ It's inside a rock formation with only a rusty chainlink-fence and no further fanfare off the road they're following, with a dented, rusty sign in front of it.

_'__Fallout Shelter'. _He could barely make out the faded words…

Daniel feels the wind picking up, smelling like salt and dust, and he turns to look around. The sky was darker, _greener…_

It was terrifying how _quickly _the storm was suddenly on top of them, and Daniel tries to ignore the anxious feeling he felt, following the group as they led their mutant cattle through the door.

Inside, it's nothing like back home… 

It's like nothing was even _finished_ out here. The tunnel is narrow and nothing was polished to be a proper tunnel. It was almost like natural rock, left mostly untouched. There was also trash everywhere, because like he was told, travelers often used this place as shelter.

And a vault's door was at the end of this tunnel.

Daniel stared while the men settled with a makeshift camp, then he approached the door slowly. Thunder sounds outside, making him stop and look up, then down at the brief clicking of his Geiger Counter. 

_Great… Now he's being irradiated, probably for the first time in his life… But it should be safe with the RadAway he has. _

The group sits around a lamp, letting the cattle rest and rummaging for their food and RadAway to have a meal. He knows they're watching him too, but Daniel continued to approach the vault.

Another sign of Vault-Tec's corner-cutting right here… They seem to have used a different alloy for this door, as it was incredibly rusty…

What's the odds that the inside was any different? If it was made cheaply, then the likelihood that something went horribly wrong in there simply sky-rocketed, no doubt about it.

So… 

If it was still closed, if it truly never opened…

Then…

Thunder and the counter sound, along with a harrowing wind chiming in like broken voices in the cave. "…Like a tomb, yeah…" He mutters, forlorn.

He gets it now…

The **106** looked incredibly _depressing_ from where he stood…

.

.

.

* * *

**XX**

This was somewhat ominous…

Standing in this place, looking up at what was recently his _cage…_

It was _creepy,_ really…

The glass seems to have retracted due to an emergency, most likely once the tank was empty. The leaked water flooding an inch under his feet came from the damaged tubes, and still glowed enough to make navigation possible despite the shut-down of all lights.

_An accumulation of recycled water that’s been in contact with him for two centuries, it’s only expected that it retained his energy._

Along with that, the faint glow of emergency lights helped the humans navigate better. The only sounds are quiet words and sloshing water beneath their feet.

Looking to the wrecked sight of a sentry bot – _an army model, he could note despite the char –_ it seems _something_ got into a nasty tussle with it…

Military-issued sentry bots were generally pretty tough, so whatever picked a fight with it, had some help and was, itself, pretty tough too. Judging by the lack of cheesed bodies, he could assume it was at least two or three of those lizards.

It’s possible they could even be _bigger_ and _meaner_ than those that snuck in… Why assume that a man-sized beast couldn’t get bigger at this point?

The DNA was faintly familiar, after all… _He had a hand in creating that thing, centuries ago, even if he didn’t recognize it, even if he didn’t quite remember much of it…_

Those that snuck upstairs weren’t really injured, so whatever fought the bot, must have lost some blood and left to lick its wounds. That made him turn to the darkest end of the room, where a pretty obvious hole was…

It seemed to lead to a cave, and it was carved through a fault in the wall, apparently.Alfred tried no to scowl and hiss at the sight, hand reaching above his temple to feel the scarring under his hairline.

_Just **why,** Vault-Tec…? Such a stupid mistake could have cost him his life…_

Still. That pathway would lead him to those things' nest, if it existed. There’s no way the lizards only existed in the cave… It’d probably lead him to the _actual_ breach, to the _outside._

_He hasn’t stepped outside in 200 years… He’s not sure how that would feel… Leaving the homeland for the first time in so long could definitely feel like a downright nauseating experience, just as it was when he first left as a kid to see London with… well… with the old man…_

Those memories are pushed aside quickly.

_He wasn’t looking forward to that unpleasant feeling again…_

Alfred kept his discomfort to himself, although he wondered what good that was, with _his_ _people_ so close by, and him, standing there with arms crossed, looking up and around in silence for nearly a few minutes now…

He sighs tiredly, only one ear listening to the cautious chatter between the officers and his boss as they look around for any further threats, _not that they were done gawking._

Luckily, the lab was emptied now. Whatever was here and didn’t follow the other two upstairs, must have gone back to where it came from. As long as he and everyone here didn’t make much noise, it’d be fine.

_And even if something did come, he’s still armed and ready._

The security alarm must have attracted those things before, which was triggered by one _James Cross._

So, in a way… the guy put everyone in this Vault in danger– it could have killed people– it could have killed _him– _and… Alfred also _owed_ the guy for his current situation, for better or for worse. _A punch was warranted if he ever met the guy._

But whatever.

Alfred had a _real_ _mission_ to focus on. That guy would be irrelevant _until_ further notice. He lacked intel on _everything, _so until that was ameliorated, he’d focus on single, manageable issues.

Like killing giant lizards in a cave. Yeah… That’d be fucking therapeutic…

_Is he swearing more…? It felt like it. Must be the descendan– his citizens, that is… Maybe culture’s gotten a little laxer on swearing…_

_That’s fine…_

Meanwhile…

Michael Snyder, or _Mike,_ as Alfred went to call him now, had given him armament from the armory, and forced a light armor on him, just as Alfred expected. It just covered his vitals over the jumpsuit.

But he also brought his personal security officers, because he could _not_ let him go alone. Pretty young officers, late 20's on the young side, early 30's on the old, named Cormac, Raymond, and Christopher. The previous, more experienced ones he had retired a few years ago.

They seemed like good guys, though… Not quite like soldiers, as _peace_ crippled the vault's self-defense capacity… He could see them as young recruits at most.

Alfred shortened their names accordingly, to _Mack, Ray, and Chris._

He _could_ improvise and handle having people to protect out there, although he’d rather not risk their lives…

With so few citizens, it felt like _every_ life mattered _way_ more…

If they notice his breezy concern, they are cautious enough in response, but _Mack_ is apparently a little too curious for his own good, bending to touch the water, cupping some in his hand–

Alfred glances at him, immediately worrying but also amused at all the awe. _Awe feels nice._ “Don’t go drinking that, you’ll die.” He cautioned quietly and lifted a leg over the cable to walk past it, going towards the breach with light steps.

He ignores the feeling of quizzical curiosity from his citizens, as they’ve been watching him the entire time, listening to his every word with apt attention too, but never really mustering the nerve to _talk_ to him. 

_It seems they don't know how to approach him or how to act around him…_

Of course, Mike follows him after his warning, which makes his security follow too. “Is it poisonous…? It’s not radioactive…”

“I’ll explain that later, it’s a little sciency.” And gruesome.

It’s _his_ energy infused into that water, creating something _just_ similar enough to his blood, that under the right conditions, such as body temperature, it tends to… _eat_ matter… and any idiot leader who ever tried to consume this sort of thing in some obtuse quest to gain immortality died rather painfully in the past…

Having your organs literally melting inside you isn’t fun.

None of _his citizens _ever did it, he's sure… _The tale was well recorded by the time his generation rolled in._

Inside his own body where it belonged, in the form of blood and biomatter, it did its job and ate bullets, as well as anything that wasn’t _him, _such as poison, and unknown microorganisms of any kind.

What worried him there, however, is that his temperature is lower than usual, since his health wasn't at its peak… _He could blame all the metal and the lack of sunlight for that…_

The fact that it _could_ bind to water molecules was an interesting advantage he could weaponize later, but for now, he'd have to do with a higher Ph level… _It's not like lizards would be shooting him. He just had to avoid being bitten or stabbed through the gut or something._

Alright, then. Time to do this…

A sharp knife and a high-caliber Magnum with armor-piercing rounds. It should do for _scaly lizards._

_Ideally, a combat knife wasn’t made to be used like a sword, but he had a way with it. His strength and speed made a short blade optimal for his needs, even if he was crippled in that department. _

_“Now remember, not a scratch on him, you hear?” _Mike is grilling their guard behind him.

Alfred rolls his eyes, humming in thought as he looks up at the cave entrance. _Its silence seemed to echo, with droplets of water his keen ears could pick up faintly–_ and a _whim_ hits him.

“Yeeeah, I changed my mind. I don’t think I need help.” Alfred turns, pointing at the cave sheepishly. He’s greeted by wide-eyes from everyone present.

_“What…?!”_

“I’ll be fine on my own. I can handle it.” He distracted himself from the bombardment of protective and puzzled emotions by fiddling with his handgun.

_“That _wasn’t our deal.” Mike wasn’t amused, crossing his arms. “You’re barely armored, armed, and now you want to go in there alone? Wha– Just _what_ are you trying to do…?!”

Alfred didn’t like that suspicious tone, and keeps from rolling his eyes. “Not trying to leave, or _kill_ myself or anything… I just think I can handle things without unnecessary risks.” He’s never been so surrounded by this much affection, awe, and good-will from humans… It made him feel anxious at the thought of losing them.

With this level of affection, he could _almost_ trick himself into forgetting everything he’s lost… and forget how _insignificant_ he is now… _and ignore how big and ominous the outside feels…_

He's not as strong as he once was, _sure…_ But still, _definitely _strong enough to deal with some animals, even if they were, as he suspected, bred as literal weapons once upon a time.

Because Alfred had a pretty good guess of where these things _came from,_ he’s sure those familiar genes aren’t there coincidentally. 

If these things _remembered_ him, even instinctually, for just a _second,_ they’d hesitate to attack, like they did before.

_He could use that. He has an innate advantage._

When he looks, the poor kids exchange nervous glances amongst themselves, hesitating to whisper _because they didn't seem to know if they were allowed to even question or doubt him in any way,_ and Mike, a little more resistant to that urge, didn’t look like he liked this one bit.

“I listened to your request and kept the number of guards to a minimum, but I _cannot_ accept you going in there alone.”

Alfred returned the gaze with just about the same level of intensity, arms crossing as well. “And _I _can’t accept taking young men to a battle they can’t possibly win. They’ll most likely need protection once one of those things notice them.”

It hurts their pride, he can tell by their disgruntlement and embarrassment. Young, hot-blooded men with something to _prove_ didn’t want to hear about their inadequacies…

_Too bad. Alfred didn’t need to lose any more citizens…_

“They’d be your support!”

“What if they miss and hit _me_ during the fight?”

“Wait, what?” Mike’s eyes widened in disbelief. “H-How close do you intend to _get_ to those things?!”

“Louder, please…? Sheesh…” Alfred winced at the tone, fiddling with his knife instead– it makes Mike’s shoulders drop in abashed embarrassment. “I’ll get as close as I need to. Close-quarters is usually how I do things.”

“You won’t have enough bullets on your own.” Mike pointed out, a sliver of triumph as he bets on the wrong cards without noticing.

Alfred grins sheepishly with a hum. “That’s my secondary weapon?”

“Wh… Oh, please, _no…_ It’s not…!”

“It is.” Alfred nodded, grin widening as his leader and citizens grow mortified on the spot. “I go for the _neck_ first. Bullets are for a contingency action-plan.”

_Kill quickly, move on to the next target, repeat._

“That’s… _not_ wise…!” Mike pleads–

“Not for flimsy humans, no…” He mumbles awkwardly. Alfred hates to point out that _they’re weak. _“Like I said, I can’t die, and I’m also faster and stronger than you. You don’t have to worry about _that,_ I’ll be fine.” He smiles to reassure them.

And it seems to work, and it makes them hesitate and exchange glances, losing the little bit of will to question him, which is when Alfred steps back and through the breach.

Just stepping out, a foot over the border, and Alfred shivered. But he didn’t let it show.

“A-Are you sure you don’t need anyone to watch your back, Soul…?”

“Yep. I’m sure.” He points at the ground in front of them. “Stay _right_ there. Even if you hear gunshots. I’ll be right back.” He continued forth, up the slope in the cave, ignoring the pinpricks of concern and fear behind him.

The rocky ground beneath his boots felt different from the metallic floor. It wasn’t nearly as comforting as it once felt in the past…

All of this… It all belonged to him back then, but now?

Everything feels as alien as foreign soil– like he’s never stepped foot on it… The earth seems to have forgotten any trace of his presence. 

He’s sure he’s out of his citizens’ sight, and he still feels the panicked pinpricks of concern as they probably pace and argue in there– _he hopes they’ll listen to him…_

_If Mike was honest about trusting him, he’d **listen.**_

Suddenly, with a sickening weight in his gut, the world is huge and terrifying, and he feels tiny and weak before it– he lets out a shuddering breath he was holding.

But he sneers and pushes forth, steeling his will, ignoring the chill of fear. _It’s not the lizards he’s scared of…_

_Really…_

_He's weakened, but he knows what he's capable of, even in this state. He knows his own limits, he feels it._

His vision adjusts to the darkness progressively. Alfred breathes deeply, stopping and taking another second to focus and stand straight.

He has left home to fight many times.

This was the same– _in essence, at least…_

_He was now insignificant compared to his nation’s former glory, but it was the same process._

Alfred shakes his head, pushing the thought aside, gripping his .44 and the blade.

Each step further from _home,_ and he put more effort into maintaining his resolve, solid and gleaming like steel.

_Don’t falter– don’t hesitate– exterminate the threat– be useful– be great– be powerful– you can do it._

His steps quicken and grow heavier– he glares ahead, his vision completely adjusting to the darkness–

Steps– heavy and big– he hears water ahead as well– underground pond? Leaking from above?

His eyes narrow and he follows up the narrowing path– he’s attracting attention with his heavy steps– but no matter–

_No matter how many he finds, he’ll deal with them swiftly– that’s what he’s made for– no Nationee in history could ever beat him– he may have dragged himself down too, but his power was downright **apocalyptic–**_

_Some fucking lizards in a cave?_

Alfred scoffs, coming off into a wider berth of the cave– _please, this is nothing. Fucking **nothing **at all._

The lizards he sees– one drinking from the pond– other already wandering towards him a few feet from that–

He only freezes for a second– _they’re bigger, goddamn it. At least two heads taller than those he first killed._

_No matter. _

They notice him, but sniff and _hesitate_ just like last time– he’s worked himself into an angry high of adrenaline, they no doubt could smell and sense that– and he rushes at full speed first, running up to the closest one before it could react further–

He jumps into its face with a heavy foot, aiming the .44 and shooting it in between the eyes, kicking off with a flip and landing on his feet as it staggers, concussed and possibly blind–

_The sounds of growling and fading gunshot sound so much louder in this cave– fuck– he's slower than he'd thought–_

The second one crawled up to him just as quickly, he doesn’t waste another bullet yet as it moves too quickly– he leans downward and dodges a slash, shooting its visible temple once and slipping behind it, stepping harshly on the tail with all his weight and strength– it screeches horribly in response and he shoots the back of its kneecap just as it turns to hit him, twisting itself to reach and bite his head, but he steps back–

_The soft flesh was most likely around the joints– but their posture didn't quite expose their necks as much as he'd have liked– not like human necks–_

The blinded one jumps in his direction to pin him– _pretty fast–_ Alfred rolls out of the way with a gasp, aiming and shooting its side, trying to hit its spine– _shit, that’s tough armor, even with the AP rounds–_ the second one turns on its broken tail and knee– Alfred grins and dances out of the way as it attacks, slipping behind and shooting its other leg joint–

The blinded one couldn’t move so well, it stopped to sniff around to find him first–

He dodged the first one’s every slash and bite and strike– _not as quick with crippled legs, bleeding like crazy–_ he's feeling positively _giddy–_

_Alfred wasn't as fast, but he was still faster than these things. _

_Better yet, his **reflexes** were still top-notch. These things moved pretty slow as far as his brain was concerned._

He tested his knife against its leathery flesh as it swung its arm at him, aiming at the elbow– it didn’t cut it clean off, and he dodged the strike, slipping past the beast– _it felt like hardass leather, not scales–_ but he sure crippled it well enough– _down three limbs now– _a punch makes it reeling back as it turns to him, breaking its face at least, and another clean headshot makes it fall.

_Still alive? But out of commission, probably._

The other one, it’s easy enough to get around it, _blind as a bat, shot point-blank in the head, most likely concussed and confused– _and it's easier to sneak close to its neck, stabbing and slashing harshly across the softer neck tissue.

He steps back, swatting his arm and knife to clear some of the blood, watching the animal bleed. It'd die soon enough, good.

Not stopping, he keeps following the cave’s path, reloading the Magnum on the way, taking deep breaths to regain some energy.

The next one in his way is a little bigger, it’s seemingly following the noise and coming his way– the cave narrows as he runs– _it’s going to intercept him the only way it could in such a narrow corridor– _

He doesn't stop and slides under and past it when it tries to stab him through with a claw, shooting it twice on the belly– _softer than the rest, like any lizard, but still not quite the weak spot–_ and knocking its balance off with a kick once he’s on the other side, just as he rushes forth to jumps onto it and bring it down with his sudden weight, knife digging deep into its skull, crushing the base beneath his hand with as much strength he could manage–

Exhaling deeply– _no time to stop– move– get this done already– _he turns.

His ear twitches– judging by the steps, a big one heard this racket he just made and moved closer– Alfred sees its huge form at the end of the narrow path– _oh, what the __shit is that–_

_A head taller than this last one– tougher-looking, a lot meaner–_

_It couldn’t reach him, too big to fit, but he couldn’t just charge in like a bull– if it’s a pack alpha of sorts, then it had a mate, possibly even bigger too– _

It looks menacingly at him– almost _judging _his movements– _did it recognize him–? _

To the side at the end of the corridor, the cave’s rocky edges led up, a narrow space near the ceiling, and Alfred jumps from wall to wall, zig-zagging to get to higher ground, up above enough that the lizard couldn’t reach him with its arm and claws–

Just as he’s above it, next to the ledge that circled the wide cave atrium, he kicks back against the wall to reach it, flipping himself towards the ledge– the beast clawed against the rocks to reach and swiped long claws up to cleave him– _it misses him narrowly– _and he completes the spin and falls on his feet with a crouch– _but tripping back as pain strikes his calves– fuck–_

He scowls and pushes himself up, stepping back from the edge, ignoring the sting, breathing even more–

_His reserves aren’t lasting nearly as much as he’s used to– his body is failing much quicker than it should– he wasn't as weak as he first imagined, but his energy is certainly going down a lot faster– _

_He’d have to suck it up and end this faster._

A loud roar of frustration follows and he sees further across the spacious cave formation from his vantage point–

_That a nest? Holy shit… that’s another big one…_

A huge one sleeping in a pile of bones and scraps of clothing, with a few much smaller ones huddled around it–

The one that had just attacked followed around the ledge to look for him– Alfred acts on reflex and rolls out of the way to dodge a set of claws as it tried to climb the rocks to reach– _way more aggressive than the others, just no hesitation. But it wasn't mindless. It **was** watching him, when it couldn't quite reach him yet._

It doesn’t relent and keeps trying to climb and reach him– the rocks beneath it break as it keeps clawing its way into creating foot and handholds– _oh, shit, that thing is really out for his blood…_

Alfred scowls, flipping the knife in his hand and standing still, waiting for it at the edge– _he didn’t want to test this knife against those claws– _he’d settle for crippling limbs instead.

When it does reach him, he aims for the arm joint, crouching to dodge the slash along before kicking its face so it would fall back on the ground below.

The blade is not good enough for a clean slash, he knows– it is, in fact, _worse_ than with the others– _blade worn out against the leathery skin of those before, and now this one is tougher, yeah, he wasn’t going to get far with hacks and slashes here– and he only had a few AP rounds left… _

_A .50 would have been optimal here… He missed his Night Howler and Silver Talon…_

_But, oh, what the hell._

_Friendly fire it is, then._

With its _slightly_ crippled arm, it can’t climb as well, and with the kick, it’s temporarily disoriented–

The other one is still hoovering protectively over its cubs, not attacking but _watching_ him instead– Alfred wonders how smart these things actually are, but pushes it aside and jumps down from the edge, falling foot first into that thing’s face, before jumping out of the way when it thrashes around to buck him off.

Once standing he backs off– the _mother, _the big one around the cubs actually stands taller and gets a bit closer now that he’s on their level– the _father _shakes the damage off, he can kinda see some blood from what bones he broke– the cubs don’t approach, though, luckily…

_Two against one… Okay, he’ll be a homewrecker now. _He feels a crooked smirk on his face with the thought.

They circled to trap him in-between them– _a little smarter– **cautious–** _Alfred holstered his weapons and looked back and forth, to see which would attack first– the mother behind did– he rolled under it nearly grabs him into a clawed grip, running out of the way of the father when it tried to cleave his shoulder, and moving up to the immediate wall with the father still on his heels–

He jumps on the wall and kicks back, launching himself over and past his pursuer– straight towards the mother instead– he held the horns on his way, pulling back and planting his feet on its back, holding on tight–

He focused and staying visible on top of it, holding still, before unholstering his ranged weapon and taking potshots at the male lizard until the chamber's emptied out, even as his ride shook its head wildly to throw him off– he just aims at the other’s hard leather spots–

_Just to annoy the shit out of it–_

Until it finally seems to snap and growl lowly, aiming a claw at him as the mother stops to cooperate with that tactic– _smart lizards– but not enough–_ timing it just right, Alfred smirks wickedly and falls back quickly, digging his foot and pulling its horns hard and making its head turn to the ceiling, exposing its neck where he was previously–

The claws are much sharper than his blade, slashing the mother’s neck open in one vicious swing– with that, he kicks back to jump away and stand on his feet, reloading his last rounds into the Magnum as the mother scrambles and bleeds, wheezing and choking on blood–

The rasping pats of clawed paws come from behind and Alfred only stomps his foot down as hard as he could, and whichever cub approached was quickly scared away by the cracks on the rocky ground–

_The rock hits back just as hard and he feels it going up his leg, rather painfully too– he had to end this before a cramp hit him–_

Now without its mate, the last big one roars at him loudly– Alfred’s eyes widen, fine hairs standing with the shiver it gave him–

_The mother is dead or dying– either way, out of the picture– now it’s just the father left._

He quickly holsters his gun, having to dodge its mad grabs and slashes and bites at him– much quicker– _he’s getting tired– but he’s got time– _but panic strikes him for a moment when he feels something wrap around his leg– _oh, fuck–_

Just as that thought struck, he's off the ground and the world spins– right as hard rock strikes his back, making everything vibrate painfully and he loses his breath as he falls to his knees, coughing–

One eye opening and the world is blurry and impossible to discern– Alfred grits his teeth and ignores his vision,_ focusing everything on his primary senses, acting on reflex as he feels that familiar piece of DNA approaching quickly, hearing its heavy steps, the vibrations going up his legs–_ and he ignores the pain on his spine, standing and drawing his fist back to punch it harshly when it gets too close–

Alfred breathes in and out, shaking his head, opening his eyes just as his vision adjusts– _there– _he crouches to dodge and counters with another punch that only made it stagger back a few steps before it jumps at him suddenly– unexpectedly _swatting– _he grits his teeth, taking the blunt attack and attempting to hold his ground–

_He’s not nearly as strong as he used to be– proof is– _he’s swung off his feet instead, and he ends up flying back, further into their nest–

Alfred scowls as he stops his momentum barehanded and snarls at the cubs before they got any _stupid fucking ideas–_ they back off and he stands, ignoring how his limbs are shaking, running back out–

_Fuck this goddamn–_

He stands tall and gestures at it– _come at me, bitch!_

He wasn’t about to be outdone in a test of _strength_ by a fucking _lizard!_

_His reserves of energy be damned– he’d burn all the water and calories he had, just to end this **now–** _

When it seemingly accepts the challenge, it _charges– _he breathes _in_ and plants his feet to grasp its horns, stopping it on its tracks– he scowls harshly, all teeth, glaring straight into its eyes– _“Didn’t **expect** that, did ya…?” _He hissed to it–

And he sidesteps, pulling with gritted teeth and all his effort–

To flip and down it on the ground–_it’s loud and pebbles fall from the ceiling–_ where he stomped on its belly, grabbing its jaw as it thrashed– its claws move to grab and crush him– his knife lifts high up, then jagged straight through its throat and down into its brain–

Alfred stops and exhales hard, struggling to breathe, ignoring the cuts from its grip as it slacks– waiting for it to move further–

It doesn’t.

He turns to glance at the mother. It's bled to death…

“Ha… Ha, ha, ha…!” Alfred grins in triumph, backing away dizzily– the knife cracks with a _clink _and breaks as he pulls it. “Fuck yeah, that’s how it’s… done…” He falters, posture sagging, seeing his breath with a bit of steam–

Sign of all the backup energy and the water he went and burned through, _all_ _at once, _like an overtaxed machine running on fumes…

With that, he turns to the rest, scattering and scratching at the ground, and he draws his broken knife– _it’ll do. _He stretches his back to stand straight, wincing at the sharp stabs into his spine “Alright, puppies… Mommy and Daddy are _gone…_ It’s just not your lucky day…” He mutters, ambling towards them.

_They’re tiny and weirdly cute. Alfred almost wanted to keep one to raise and see what he could train it to do…_

But it’s too much of a _risk_ to let these things grow. His Vault is all he had left, so he had to keep it safe, _at all costs. _

One grabbed and slashed neck for each. He gets some _scratches_ when they fight back.

Alfred sighs once done, dropping the broken knife with a _cling, _forearm rubbing on his forehead, then blinks at the blood dripping from his forearm, courtesy of a thrashing lizard trying to grab him as it died… It went right through the bracer.

He grimaced. _He’s a walking CDC nightmare now, these things bled all over him, he can’t even tell what’s his own blood anymore… But that's fine… He won…_

_‘At ease now, soldier…’_

Relaxing, he looks around the cave– posture limp with exhaustion, slowly dawning on his body, his weak healing draining him even drier.

Wait…

There’s something in there…? Alfred squints at the sight, it was dark and went further into the cave, just beyond the nest, but he could almost see…

Metal?

He staggers slowly and with caution until he hears metal under his boots. His vision adjusts slowly to this even darker corner, the faint light of a terminal was visible.

_What?_

He waits until his vision adjusted further, until he could distinguish what exactly he was looking at.

It’s… actually a _door…_ And so close to the Vault?

Suspicious.

Lips pressed thin, Alfred debates with himself on whether he should try to open it. There was a terminal by the door, so it could be locked… But that was never really an issue with him– _he knew these machines inside and out._

There were no signs that told him what this was about. Only a door. Alfred, however, was indeed beyond exhausted…

He shouldn’t be. He _wouldn’t_ be, if he were _at his best. _But this is just how things are now… He only had a broken knife and a few bullets left, and he was at his limit…

Ah… Whatever…

He’d pass out if he kept insisting. It was no time to go exploring, and he’s sure his people are worried sick by now…

That last thought makes his frown soften. He turns on his heels and walks back dizzily, only checking the diverging paths around the cave… _carefully, as if checking for mines buried underground…_ just to see if he missed any lizards.

_Thankfully, _he found nothing beyond _one_ corner that looked like a cave-in, blocking his path…

_Was this an exit at some point…? Was this recent?_

_Where **did** these things come from, if not here…?_

_How long were these things stuck down here, then…?_

That's a depressing thought… Did he struggle so much to kill a few **hungry** animals…? 

The questions linger in his mind, but he can barely think by now– he desperately wants to _rest–_ so he turns and makes his way back, blinking slowly and yawning, ignoring the faint taste of iron in his mouth– _he needed a bed and some sleep and some food…_

_And water… He’s parched as hell…_

_He's probably not even healing himself anymore… Mike was going to freak out… He hoped those younglings didn't worry too much, but maybe he'd need to explain how his healing works so they wouldn't feel too anxious about letting him fight alone…_

Overall, it seems the most pressing mission was successful, though. Alfred can be happy for now and sleep better, feeling less like a _waste of space. _He grins blissfully to himself.

He’s fulfilled his natural obligation while perfectly conscious and self-aware, and he feels quite satisfied with it.

Despite being filthy with lizard blood and cave grime, Alfred hasn’t felt _this_ content with himself in a _long_ time, to be honest…

_Yeah, it felt **pretty** good, and today was a **good** day. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
.  
.  
I'm not very good with fight scenes, but here's that BAMF!America I promised in the tags. A little OP, I know, that's the point. Although, I did hint that the deathclaws in the cave aren't as strong as they _should_ have been… Alfred is OP, yes, but these things were indeed weakened because of their situation. How the situation ended that way is another matter entirely.
> 
> Now, a few of my plans here changed, which is why chapters now require some editing and some added scenes before I can upload them, which is why they'll take a little while longer (not to mention my other fic, which is my main focus, tbh).
> 
> A few IMPORTANT things.
> 
> I don't quite like _some_ of the creative directions Bethesda took with Fallout, that's very clear (I like a few others, to be fair). So I'll be making a few changes to the Fallout East Coast setting.
> 
> 1\. East vs West: The two coasts should be different, as far as I'm concerned. Animals that exist today on both sides wouldn't have evolved the same with radiation over time. So, there are some mutated species that only exist in either one or the other, even if their original source existed in both. I decided to add a few of my original shit to the East, since the West is pretty established as pure canon to me (with the exception of Mirelurks in New Vegas, like, wth…). I'll keep the original stuff that Bethesda created for the East, like Mirelurks and Bloodbugs, for example. Now they only exist in the East. Some common things like Radroaches and Bloatflies should exist anywhere, but I like the idea that they'd be slightly different depending on where you are. Packs of radwolves seemed like an obvious, easy thing to me, but I have other stuff too, don't worry. All of this also means that I'm taking _out_ a few things… Maybe you can guess what _shouldn't_ be on the East Coast on that scale… (that said, under this same logic, the Enclave probably shouldn't be here either, but… they fit with the setting because of the main character, so I couldn't resist, they get to stay because of that).
> 
> 2\. Radstorms: Can I say that I just love radstorms? Like seriously, I use cheats and mods to make them happen and last longer, because I love their atmosphere so much. The Glowing Sea is my favorite spot in FO4. There's no way I'd ignore it here.
> 
> 3\. Capitol Hill: Considering how much of a target DC would have been during the Great War, it's inconceivable to me that the whole downtown area would be anything besides a radioactive hellhole, equivalent to the Glowing Sea itself, with the White House as the epicenter. Although, I have reasons as to why it's not _all glass._ I figured it'd be a waste to turn it into a crater, considering the main character and the setting I'm going for. The fact that there are no literal craters in FO3 beyond Megaton's undetonated one, is really odd to me (if there are, remind me, I'm not actually sure, I just don't remember ever seeing one besides Megaton).
> 
> 4\. Paradise Falls (north of the Potomac): This is playing a larger role here, compared to FO3. Adjusting the geopolitical landscape of the area is fun, but I wish I didn't have to… I'll leave that here, for future chapters.
> 
> 5\. Rivet City: I switched its location because of the Capitol Hill situation. Now it's just on a similar port on the other side of the Potomac River, nothing complicated.
> 
> 6\. GNR: Same as above. It couldn't be at that spot, because living there is impossible for a human. I put it on Arefu and turned that sorry-excuse of a settlement into an actual town that looks cool. The radio tower is on top of the bridge now, and the place as a whole is much more affluent. ;)
> 
> 7\. 'Riley': Yes, I'm aware of Riley's Rangers, but tbh, I forgot about them until the name stuck, and then I didn't want to change it. Maybe those guys should have tried harder to leave a good impression on me, so maybe I wouldn't have forgotten about them so easily. lol I'll change her name, if needed.
> 
> Let me know if there are any inconsistencies with any lore, or anything odd you noticed. I don't actually know everything there is to know about Fallout. :D
> 
> I think that's all. o/ Wash your hands and stay healthy. Till next chapter.


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